


The Shortest Distance

by tcatzen87



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brotp, Coffee Shop, Confessions, Derek's Past, Dinner, Drabble, F/M, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Monsters, Pack, Rebuilding, Snow, Tropes, Winter, helpful Stiles, research Stiles, sarcastic Derek, the betas!, tw: implied/past self-harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:59:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tcatzen87/pseuds/tcatzen87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles exploring Stiles' relationship to Derek, using any fun plot-bunnies I come up with. Also bonus Scott/Allison, and Stiles + Allison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Turn here

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is just a bit of fun for me to get back into the habit of writing, and also because Teen Wolf, and particularly Sterek, has taken over my life. Eventually, there will be lots of Sterek, but for now I'm just exploring.  
> I'm also becoming a fan of Stiles and Allison being friends, which is why they've been tagged as such.  
> This takes place long after the Alpha pack debacle.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erica gets hurt and Stiles and Derek save her.

Stiles is drumming his fingers on the steering wheel restlessly. He’s driving Derek’s Camaro, but he has no time to appreciate it. Derek’s arm has been shot with wolfsbane (again) and Erica’s in the backseat with a wolfsbane-laced sword wound across her torso. Stiles and Derek had barely found her in time, and now Stiles was driving at break-neck speed to keep her from succumbing to her wound.

“Turn here!” Derek barks.

Stiles fights to keep the car on the road as he makes the turn. Once the car is righted, Stiles chances a look at the backseat. Erica is laid across Derek’s lap. Her eyelids flutter briefly, and her body makes aborted little movements in Derek’s arms.

“Jesus,” Stiles mutters. “Almost there, Erica. We’re almost there.”

For a moment, there’s silence besides Erica’s labored breathing and Derek’s low growls. Stiles keeps glancing in all the mirrors for flashing lights, blue, red, and white, while he speeds over Beacon Hill’s deserted side roads. His heart is hammering in his chest and his throat is tight. Erica’s gonna die if he doesn’t drive like all of hell is behind them.

It probably is.

“Stiles,” Derek begins quietly. “What I said about you not being a part of this pack—my pack—I didn’t mean it.”

Stiles flicks his eyes to the rearview mirror. Derek is frowning down at Erica.

“It’s no problem, man,” but the words are out before he realizes it’s a lie. In all probability, Derek has realized it too.

“Stiles,” Derek says again.

Stiles swallows. “Look, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about this now. I—I need to concentrate on getting you guys to the warehouse without killing us all in a car-wreck.” Beat. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Derek mutters.

Stiles nods, glances at Derek again, then grips the steering wheel tighter.

When they get to the warehouse, Deaton’s already waiting for them. He helps Derek get Erica out of the backseat. Stiles runs ahead and opens doors for them. He helps Deaton clear off a table before they lay Erica on it. He moves back to Derek, who’s backed away in quiet agony, but Derek snarls, “Go!”

Shaking, Stiles scurries back to the table, keeping an eye on both the proceedings and Derek. A pained grunt and Derek has torn his shirt off. He’s ready to throw caution to the wind and help Derek to find somewhere to sit but so much as a move in his direction and Derek is flashing alpha-red eyes at him.

So Stiles helps Deaton clean out Erica’s wound. Erica’s twitching uncontrollably as her spasms take over, and Stiles tries his best to hold her in place. The minute she makes gargling noises in her throat, Derek is there in an instant, talking to her, soothing her, looking for all the world like a concerned father and not a stressed-out werewolf in agony himself.

But with Derek hovering over her, Erica seems to calm down. Deaton’s hands fly over her mid-riff, cleaning the wound out. By the time it looks like he has finished, her seizures have stopped and her chest is moving evenly.

Derek smoothes her hair back. Her eyes flutter closed and Derek finally stops talking. Stiles relaxes his hold on her arms and steps back, breathing like he’d run a marathon.

“Let’s get her up,” Deaton says. The three of them lift her from the table and carry her to the battered couch near the train car. Stiles notices that Deaton is shooting anxious glances at Derek, who is taking most of Erica’s weight. Even from Stiles’ view, he can see the veins in Derek’s arm bulging out from the effect of the wolfsbane.

Stiles is the first to Derek when Erica has been laid down. He catches Derek, barely, when Derek’s legs buckle, and Deaton helps him bring Derek back to the table. It’s covered in Erica’s blood, and other stuff, but they lay Derek down upon it, no matter how much he struggles, which is feebly.

As Deaton prepares his tools for Derek, Stiles mumbles, “So, we’re not going to saw off your arm this time.” He freezes, thinking about it, and glances up at Deaton. “Right?”

Deaton shakes his head. “I’m not even going to ask where you got that idea.”

Taking heart from that, Stiles grins down at Derek, who is watching him. “Yep, so no hack-saws and no threats of bodily harm, man. Just some good old-fashioned purification. Hold tight, man.”

Stiles moves to the other side of the table to let Deaton in to get at the injured arm. Derek closes his eyes for a second, grimacing as Deaton begins cleaning out the bullet wound. When he opens them again, he stares up at Stiles, jaw clenched, eyes completely alpha-ed out.

Stiles fights to not break his gaze, and to return it calmly, difficult considering the sounds coming from Derek’s mouth and Deaton’s tools. But somehow he does it, returning the Alpha’s stare with his own, and feels his heart-beat slow down. Derek is the one to break the gaze, as his chest rises off the table with a wrenching groan. Deaton and Stiles push him back down, steady his injured arm, and Stiles is slung over Derek’s chest when he looks back into Derek’s eyes.

When the lodged bullet is out and all the wolfsbane eradicated, Stiles eases off Derek’s torso. Deaton cleans his arm, and Stiles can see the wound already healing over, the skin back to perfect. Derek is fighting not to close his eyes.

“You need to rest, Derek,” Deaton says gently.

“No,” Derek growls out.

“Rest,” Deaton says, command firm. “We’ll have Scott look for the rest of your pack. I’ll speak to Chris Argent, deal with the hunters who attacked you.”

“No,” Derek growls again, starting to rise from the table.

“Stiles will stay here,” Deaton adds. “Keep an eye on you two.”

It could have been the adrenaline dropping, but Stiles swears Derek relaxes. Derek frowns, as he usually does, but lets them lead him into the train car where there is a bed made up. Stiles takes a moment to consider the new mattress, new bedspread (forest green – huh), and fluffy pillows. They lay Derek down, and Deaton goes back into the main room. Stiles pauses, watching Derek’s eyes flicker closed. He folds the bedspread over Derek, then goes back into the main room too.

Deaton is gathering his tools. He glances up at Stiles and says, “You did a good thing, Stiles, getting them here. I know it’s difficult associating with one alpha, when someone else is yours, but I’m sure Derek will appreciate it.”

Stiles shrugs. “Always seem to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, so just gotta go with the flow.” He pauses. “I doubt Scott will mind though.”

Deaton nods absently. As he finishes putting the last of his tools away, he says, “When they wake up, they’ll be a little surly, but they shouldn’t hurt you. And the hunters don’t know this is Derek’s base, so you will be safe. Call Scott to find his pack, and get him to send them here. They’ll be safest here.”

“These days it seems safe is relative,” Stiles mutters darkly.

Deaton’s lips quirk. “It always is.” With that, he turns to go up the stairs. He pauses near the top and looks over the railing, down at Stiles. “Get them to drink some chamomile tea when they wake up. Then they won’t bother you so much.”

Stiles stares at him, open-mouthed, and says, “Where am I supposed to get chamomile tea?” but Deaton has finished climbing and is through the door. Stiles looks around. Sparse furnishings, just enough to keep a bunch of wolves comfy during down times, and a few odds and ends from the Hale house. “And how the hell am I supposed to get a kettle?”

As he explores the place, just passing the time you know, nothing to do with two sleeping dangerous werewolves just feet from him, he calls Scott, fills him in on what’s happened and Deaton’s instructions. Scott sounds a little annoyed about Stiles being around Derek (never mind at Derek’s _place_ ), but he doesn’t say anything other than to promise to get the pack to show up.

When he finishes with Scott, he considers texting Allison. Finally, he just calls her. “Hey, Al, Deaton’s on his way to speak to your father.”

“What? Why?” Allison asks. There is a lot of background noise, people chattering, chairs scraping along the floor, all that normal stuff he hasn’t really been dealing with lately.

“We got attacked,” he tells her. “Rogue hunters, or hunters who don’t follow the Code, whatever.”

There is a sharp intake of breath. “Jesus, Stiles, are you okay?” Allison asks.

“Oh, I’m fine.” He looks around the warehouse, where he’s stuck for the time being. “Considering.”

“And Scott?” Allison adds. He can hear a note of hysteria creeping into her voice. It occurs to him that his ‘we’ could have included Scott.

“Yeah, he wasn’t attacked,” Stiles tells her quickly, “he wasn’t with us.” He hears a sigh of relief. “I was with Derek. We were looking for Erica, so…”

“Just be careful,” Allison says, a note of consternation in her voice.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles mutters. “You know me, always careful. Careful is my middle name.”

Allison sighs again. The background noise is getting lower. “Keep me posted, okay? I’ll let my father know Deaton is coming to see him. And I’ll let Lydia know, just in case. Just—keep me posted.” The unspoken ‘about Scott’ isn’t said, but he gets it anyway.

“Sure, great, yeah.” Stiles has ended up in what seems to be a cupboard, looking at clean towels sitting on dirty shelves. Seriously? They say goodbye and hang up. Stiles has no doubt Allison will call her father and Lydia to let them know of the situation, and she’ll probably even get to her house before Deaton does.

When the rest of the pack doesn’t show up right away, Stiles begins to get a little worried. He tries to hide it by actually looking for a kettle and tea bags, something he secretly thinks is a lost cause but he’s trying for it anyways in order to occupy his mind. He finds a break room with running water and an old-style kettle. A look in the cupboards reveals instant coffee—probably not a good idea for injured werewolves ready enough to do murder. But no tea of any kind.

He looks in their fridge and his jaw dropped. It’s stocked, like a normal fridge. There’s milk, cheese, hot dogs, etc. Hell, even beer. He steals a bottle and takes a sip. Closes the fridge and leaves the break room. There’s an old office with shelves covered in books. Here and there, he finds titles that surely have come from Derek’s house, dealing with folklore and werewolves and magic. He even comes across an old photo album.

A peek inside reveals photos from the 30s, presumably of Derek’s ancestors. Each photo has a caption and a date. People he doesn’t recognize are sitting at tables, smiling at the camera, surprisingly camera-flare-free. There are wedding photos, and ceremonial photos. People in the woods, hiking, sitting around fires, in front of stores, with their friends. The photos become more modern. When he gets to the 50s, he’s looking at wedding photos of Peter Hale and a beautiful blonde, and something about this strikes him as odd, but Stiles files it for later and chugs on his beer. He follows the photos progress: funerals, weddings, births, birthdays, sports, cars, woods. He feels the overall impression of a normal happy family, doing normal happy-family things, without any hint of lycanthropy.

Until he comes up a picture of Laura Hale as a baby, with the caption saying ‘1974’, and now he realizes why Peter’s wedding photo struck him as odd. Peter looks to be in his late thirties now, and that photo shows him to be his late twenties back in 19 _55_. If Laura was only a few years older than Derek (Laura, who was supposed to be at school, like Derek, when the fire that killed their family broke out), then how old was Derek?

Heart beating faster, Stiles scans all the pictures religiously until he finds the right one. The caption reads, ‘Derek Hale – 1978’. Wait, what? He does the math in his head, ridiculously slowly. Derek was… 33? That was at least ten years older than what he portrayed himself to be. So that meant…

“Lucky fuckers,” Stiles mutters, shaking his head. Werewolves aged slowly, or even not at all. So, what, they went to high school again and again to pretend they were their ages? This was all getting a bit too _Twilight_ but whatever. Stiles files it away and goes back to the pictures.

Derek doesn’t look grouchy as a baby, surprisingly. He looks like a good-natured kid with a mischievous smile. He poses with his siblings occasionally (of which there were many, two other girls and a boy), acting as the clown. There’s a photo of him and Laura pulling faces at the camera. Then one of him smiling pensively, in a close-up with his mother, who gazes into the camera softly. Then there’s a girl with him, younger than he is, who was labeled as another Hale, presumably another sibling. He’s pushing her on a swing. And throughout these photos of Derek’s life, glimpses of Peter and his wife and kids, Laura growing into a beautiful woman, their parents, other family members or friends, and the Hale house in all its former glory just after it was built in the late nineties.

As Stiles predicts, the photos stop when Derek looks closer to sixteen. All the happy memories fade away, to be replaced by empty pages and unused photo slots. The family fell apart as their house went up in flames, turning Derek into who he was now, and Stiles has a moment of clarity where he gets it. He understands why Derek is the way he is. All that happiness and safety ripped apart with the lighting of a match. Stiles knows that Derek and Laura fled the memories to New York. They went across the country to get away from the pain, and then they came back, and well, the rest he already knows.

After staring at an empty space of pages for a moment, Stiles flips back to a photo of Derek smiling. It was open, it was honest, it was trusting. It felt very odd to see it on Derek’s face, albeit a younger version. Stiles mourned for it. He wondered what Derek would be like now, if the fire had never happened. Would he even be in Beacon Hills? Would he be at school, or already in some high-profile career? Would he smile like the kid in the pictures?

Stiles sighs, and closes the album, keeping his hand firmly pressed upon the back. He has his own fair share of painful memories and this trip down Derek’s memory lane is dredging them back up again. He swallows some more beer to loosen the tightening in his throat. When that doesn’t work, he resolutely gets up to put the album back on the shelf and tries to make it look as if it had never been touched. He realizes that is probably futile, as Derek would probably smell him on it the next time he picks it up. But it turns out that that doesn’t matter.

Stiles turns to leave and jumps back in surprise. “Holy God!” Then he looks everywhere but at Derek’s face.

Derek is leaning against the wall in the doorway, hidden in shadow. Stiles can’t tell whether Derek is angry or not, but then again he’s not actually looking at Derek’s face. He sneaks a look up to find Derek watching him, face unreadable. It makes Stiles uncomfortable.

He waves his hands around, trying to figure out if he should lie or apologize, and then notices the beer bottle. “Oh, yeah, I took a bottle from your fridge. Sorry?”

He winces as Derek pointedly looks behind him at the shelf the photo album is on. Then Derek looks back at him too.

“Yeah, yeah…” Stiles scratches his head, avoiding Derek’s stare again. “Sorry about looking at your photo album. I’m sure you… you don’t want people to see—” He cuts himself off and sneaks a glance at Derek again.

Derek leans off the wall and Stiles takes a step back automatically. Something passes over Derek’s face at this, but he says, “Isaac and Boyd got here. They’re fine. Scott’s waiting for you at your house. I’ll take you home.”

Then he walks away, leaving Stiles to gawk at him before finally moving his legs to hurry up after him. He’s so surprised that he barely registers Isaac and Boyd’s presence, or that Erica’s still asleep even though her alpha isn’t, or that he’s still holding the bottle of beer in his hand as they step out of the warehouse to get into Derek’s car. By the time he realizes it, he can’t figure out what to do with it, especially since the Sheriff’s underage son shouldn’t be coming home with a beer bottle in hand, so he leaves it in one of the car’s cup-holders. And isn’t that a problem and a half, especially if Derek gets pulled over on his way home.

They don’t talk on their way to Stiles’ house. Stiles sneaks glances at him periodically. The only sign of his latest injury are the bags under his eyes and the grim set to his jaw. But the skin on his arm is healed over. It looks smooth enough to touch, and Stiles has to stop himself from reaching over to do just that. After the thought enters his mind, he fists his hands at his side and wonders what the hell has got him thinking about touching Derek Hale voluntarily.

His dad’s cruiser is in the drive, but Scott is sitting on the steps, waiting. Derek parks at the curb and barely looks at Stiles as he unbuckles.

Awkwardly, Stiles says, “Thank you… for getting me home.” Derek nods. Stiles moves to open the door but stops. “And let me know how Erica is… if she doesn’t come to school tomorrow.”

Derek looks at him then. There’s some surprise underneath his frown, but he nods and Stiles gets out of the car. He trudges up to the steps where Scott has stood up and Derek guns the engine and drives off. As he looks back to see the car drive off, he notices the curtains in the living room flutter closed. No doubt his dad has noticed the car and will also know the license plate and who exactly the car belongs to. Which means he’ll be getting two interrogations tonight.

He looks up at Scott and smiles grimly. “Want some pizza?” Scott nods.

Stiles tries his best to keep Scott in the living room, or any room that has a chance his dad will come in and interrupt them so that Scott can’t grill him too hard. But after checking that the boys were good with their pizza and TV, his dad announces that he’s got an early shift in the morning so he’s going to bed. Sure, Stiles is relieved that the second interrogation is postponed, but he knows his father won’t drop it, that he’ll gather more info on Stiles’ acquaintance with Derek and use it for better leverage when they finally do have an interrogation.

So Stiles focuses on the upcoming drama about to be unleashed and tries to grit himself to it.

“Stiles,” Scott begins, “I’m not mad.”

Stiles peers over at him. “Are you sure, man? I know I would be if I were in your situation. I mean, who fraternizes with the enemy? Come on. Give it to me, Scott.” He frowns as Scott just shrugs. “No, seriously, I know how much you hate Derek Hale, let’s get all that hatred out in the open and settle it on me for running around in the woods with him to find Erica.”

“I don’t hate him,” Scott forces out. He holds up his pizza slice like he’s got a grudge against it. “And you know what? I’m okay with you going with him to find Erica. Erica was hurt. She needed to be found. End of.”

Stiles stares at him for a moment. “You’ve gotten so mature in the past twelve hours. Is everything okay?” Scott punches him lightly on the arm and Stiles holds his arms out in surrender. “I’m just saying!”

“Everything’s fine, Stiles,” Scott says. He frowns a little. “Well, obviously, not really. I mean we’ve got more insane hunters after us, Allison’s barely speaking to me, I can’t play lacrosse anymore.”

“Yeah, man, I already know,” Stiles mumbles. He takes a bite off his pizza and decides to touch a topic they’d been trying to avoid since Scott found out about it. “She asks about you, you know. She asked about you tonight, how you were. She was worried.”

Stiles must be magic or something. Scott gets a little, glazed smile and Stiles has to huff a laugh. Jackpot. Drama avoided. Talking about Allison and her feelings for Scott always helped nudge a conversation in a better direction. It used to bother Stiles that Allison was Scott’s everything now, but it didn’t anymore. In fact, he has been using it to his advantage a little too much, but he wasn’t going to tell anyone.

But when Scott’s face loses the smile and knits together, Stiles grimaces. “I’ve been doing some thinking,” he begins.

“Oh shit,” Stiles mutters, “batten down the hatches. Hell must be freezing over.”

“I’m serious. I’ve been thinking… of joining Derek. Not fully, but working with him more.”

“Wow. I think hell really did freeze over. Or did heaven just get really hot?”

Scott snorts. “Neither of the two. I just—ever since the Alpha pack came through here, there’s always been something after another, and I guess I just don’t feel like I can do this on my own anymore.” Stiles opens his mouth to protest, but Scott is already saying, “I know I’ve got you, but you’re just human.”

“Hey!”

“You know what I mean. I can’t always rely on you when we’re up against ginormous evil monsters.”

Stiles snorts. “‘Ginormous evil monsters?’ Since when have we battled ginormous evil monsters?”

Scott ignores him. Probably a wise choice.  “I don’t want to get you hurt because I don’t know what I’m doing, or what these other things are. And now we’ve got hunters after us again.”

“It’s not like Derek’s any safer,” Stiles points out. “I mean, he’s in the middle of these things too.”

“Yeah, but at least he knows what the hell is going on,” Scott bemoans.

Stiles thinks that that’s probably because Derek keeps climbing into his bedroom every week to do research on his computer. Stiles has suggested he use the library more than once. At least there they have free wireless internet and Derek could borrow his uncle’s laptop and research to his heart’s content. But no. Stiles keeps getting stuck with a surly werewolf in his bedroom at least once a week.

“And you’re already working with him,” Scott adds.

Stiles freezes. “Not on purpose,” he protests.

“Look, it doesn’t matter. He’s in our lives one way or another. I really just don’t see any way of keeping him out of it anymore. And he’s not going anywhere, so… might as well get on board.”

Stiles considers all this. He agreed that Scott couldn’t handle all this werewolf stuff on his own. He had his mother and his job and his school work to handle. And Stiles felt a little better about being unofficially included under Derek’s umbrella. But he was not looking forward to Scott and Derek butting heads, which will inevitably happen because they were the two most stubborn werewolves on the planet.

Scott leaves early that night to go over to Derek’s to talk to him. Stiles wishes him luck and goes upstairs to start an essay. Later that night he gets a text from Scott. ‘D said to tell u that E is fine. U’ll see her @ school tmrw’.

Stiles sighs and puts his phone down.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that Derek is a lot older than he's shown to be was sprung at me from other people on tumblr and I wanted to explore it. Erm, that was awhile ago, and I've sorta changed my mind, so it may or may not figure in future drabbles.


	2. Computer, Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek comes over to use Stiles' computer and then the Sheriff barges in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble pokes fun at the fact that Derek never seems to have his own computer and in fics is always using Stiles', and also the fact that Derek never uses the front door. Fluff. Enjoy.

When he gets back from lacrosse, Stiles’ evening is spent in front of his computer. He literally gets home, gets another ‘congratulations’ from his dad who had been at the game, grabs a plate of supper, and goes into his bedroom to find Derek’s pulled up a second chair to his computer. He hasn’t showered yet so he feels disgusting and he’s sure he smells it too. He plans to use it to his advantage though, so he pulls his chair as close to Derek as he can get and goes through the motions of eating as loudly as possible while Derek uses his computer.

After half an hour, Stiles would be surprised if a vein hasn’t burst in Derek’s temple.

Eventually, Stiles breaks the “work” talk (aka arguments) they’re having to say, “Look, can’t you buy your own goddamned computer? You’ve got a Camaro. You should at least be able to afford a laptop.”

“I don’t need my own computer.”

“Yes, you do! You obviously do because you’re here using mine!”

“That’s different. I need to use _you_ for research. That doesn’t mean I need a computer of my own.”

“Use me and abuse me, huh?”

“What?”

“Nothing. Obviously you _do_ need a computer of your own. How do you even update Facebook? Your phone?”

“I don’t have a Facebook.”

Stiles gasps theatrically. “The horror! The scandal! How can you not have a Facebook?”

“I don’t _need_ a Facebook, Stiles.”

“You heathen,” Stiles mutters fake-disapprovingly. He’s not sure, but he thinks he can see the twitch of a lip, in an upwards fashion nonetheless.

They both jump when the bedroom door opens and Stiles’ father blunders in. When he sees who is next to Stiles, he freezes, face void of emotion.

“Hello,” his dad says.

“Dad, this is—” Stiles begins, flailing in his chair.

“Obvious,” his dad cuts in.

Derek gets up and extends a hand, the sour alpha look completely gone. “Sheriff, good to see you again.”

His dad shakes the proffered hand warily. “You too. Especially without handcuffs.”

Derek nods sheepishly.

Stiles’ dad clears his throat before Derek has time to say anything else and looks at Stiles like a missile locked on. “Stiles, can I talk to you outside for a minute?”

Stiles fumbles with his chair, shoots Derek a look when his dad has turned and joins his dad in the hallway just down from the door. Where Derek can still hear everything, even if he wasn’t a werewolf.

“Stiles, remember that time I asked you how well you know Derek Hale and you said not at all, and then later you revealed through your mistakes and sarcastic remarks that you did know him a little bit more than you let on?” He waits for Stiles to nod, so he does. “How much is a ‘little bit’?”

“Uh, well,” Stiles scratches his head, “it’s a little bit more,” he hesitates, “than most people.”

His father sighs. “Stiles.”

“But don’t worry! He’s just using me—my computer! My computer.”

His father actually looks green. He takes a deep breath. “Stiles, how do you know him?”

Stiles opens his mouth and says, “Well, he’s my—” but he stops, because he was about to say ‘alpha’ and that is wrong on so many levels because a) his dad doesn’t know about werewolves yet, and b) since when did he start referring to Derek as his alpha rather than Scott?

So he stumbles on, “friend---’s friend. He’s my friend’s friend.”

His father narrows his eyes. Stiles waits tensely for his father to speak. Finally, “Then perhaps he should use your friend’s computer. Or the library’s.”

Stiles nods vigorously. “Absolutely. Yeah, I was just telling him that. I’ll go tell him again, that you’re not comfortable with an absolved supposed murderer in your house.”

“Stiles…” his father begins.

“Hey, Stiles?” another voice asks. They look over to see Derek leaning out the doorway of Stiles’ bedroom, leather jacket back on. “I’ve got a meeting to get to, so uh—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles nods, “go for it.”

“Thanks for letting me use your computer.” Derek comes fully into the hallway again and looks like a normal citizen again as he extends his hand to Stiles’ dad. “Sheriff, pleasure to see you again.”

Stiles shouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between actual Derek due-deference and Derek deferential-sarcasm, but he can. He bites his cheek to keep from smirking as his father shakes Derek’s hand again awkwardly.

Derek nods to Stiles and then—no joke—goes down the stairs to use the front door. Stiles tries not to let his eyes bug out of his head considering how many times he hasn’t seen that happen.

His father turns back to him, no longer as tense as before, but still with his serious face on. “Be careful around him. He may be exonerated… but I don’t like that he was implicated in the first place, and that every time I find you in the middle of a crime scene, he seems to be in the vicinity of said crime scene as well. So… just be careful, okay son?”

Stiles nods for what seems like the umpteenth time this evening. “Yeah, I will.”

His father leaves to go to work and Stiles goes back to his computer. Derek had closed down all the browsers and left a note on the keyboard. ‘We’ll continue working on this at the pack meeting’.

For a moment, Stiles just sits there, staring at the note. He wonders what Derek heard from the almost slip in Stiles’ confession and whether he’d come to the same conclusion that Stiles had.


	3. I've Been Meaning To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It snows in Beacon Hills, and after the town digs itself out, Stiles and Allison go for a coffee. Allison decides to invite Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this isn't my favourite bit by any means. I kinda feel like the apology is a little smarmy and wishful thinking, but you'll see. I wanted to explore it.  
> This was prompted after finding out that Sacramento, California, got snowed-in, while those of us in Southern Ontario deal with a small dusting of snow for Christmas.

This Christmas, snow has fallen on Beacon Hills. Normally, that doesn’t happen. The citizens of Beacon Hills usually get away with light sweaters well into the New Year, but every once in awhile, possibly once in a blue moon because Stiles’ luck is like that, the weather turns and brings snow.

Stiles wakes up one morning to several inches of snow on the ground. His father’s cruiser is still in the driveway, and it looks like his father is trying his damndest to shovel it out, despite the fact that the roads haven’t even been cleared yet. He’s got several texts and Facebook posts about the snow, mainly from Scott, and all of Scott’s messages are in capital letters like he’s so excited he just can’t believe it.

Stiles gets his winter coat out from deep within his closet and goes outside to help his dad with the seemingly losing battle with the snow.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles says as he comes down the porch, kicking the snow with his boots as he goes. Stiles grins as his father sighs and leans against the cruiser. “Need some help?”

His father just leans there, breathing heavily. He raises a hand when Stiles opens his mouth again. Finally, “If you can see your way to a snow shovel and help me clear the driveway out, that would be great.”

When Stiles returns with a massive snow shovel, his dad is back to the end of the driveway. “You know,” Stiles starts, ducking down with the shovel and clearing a path, “you can just stay home today. I highly doubt the criminals of Beacon Hills are going to be active anyway. They probably took a look outside at all the snow and said, ‘You know what, I think I’ll stay in today’.”

His dad snorts. “Unless, they saw that everyone in Beacon Hills’ sheriff’s department were stuck at home because of the snow and decided that this was the best opportunity to do whatever it is they were planning to do.”

“But that still requires moving around outside in the snow,” Stiles mutters. “Everyone should just take a day off and make snowmen. Go to friends’ houses. Drink hot chocolate. Not that I really like hot chocolate, I’m just saying—”

“Yes, Stiles, I don’t mind you going over to Scott’s house today,” his father cuts in, shaking his head. Stiles makes big innocent eyes at him, which only prompts his father to narrow his eyes. “Just don’t take the Jeep. If you want, I’ll drop you off.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure I can walk over there.” He looks down the neighbourhood in the direction of Scott’s house. “It’s only twenty minutes. Maybe thirty, because of the snow. Not bad at all.” But he’s grimacing. “Maybe I’ll just stay in today. Like all the criminals, and everyone else in town.”

His dad shakes his head, the barest ghost of a smile on his lips. “Well, if you do change your mind, the snow plows are due to start running anytime soon. So they’ll do the main streets of town first and get round to our street maybe by 10, 11 at the latest. Just wait for them to pass by and you can walk on the road. But I still don’t want you taking your Jeep. It doesn’t have snow tires or chains on it yet.”

He pauses and looks up at his father. “You want me to get snow tires this year? Can we afford that?”

“Might as well. Get them now, and you’re prepared for this year and next year. And it’s better than hearing that my only son has slid his Jeep off the road and into a ditch in minus whatever degree weather.”

Stiles nods. “Sure, yeah,” he says quietly. “I’ll make an appointment with the garage as soon as possible.”

By the time they’ve dug the cruiser out of the driveway and his father has managed to get it onto the snow-covered road, Stiles has cemented his plans for the day. A look on TV lets him know that yes, schools are closed due to the buses being unable to get onto the roads, so he has a whole day. He decides to go to Scott’s as soon as the snow plows come through and shoots a text off to Scott challenging him on his new Super Mario Bros game.

But his plans get shot down when Scott replies back that he can’t, that he’d promised Isaac he’d go snow-shoeing with him and Boyd. They’d unearthed three pairs of snow-shoes out of Boyd’s basement apparently (only three, seriously?) but Scott promised that he’d take Stiles snow-shoeing before the snow melted.

Stiles collapses in his desk chair and throws his phone on the bed. Ditched by Scott (again) and left to his own devices. He sits morosely for a moment, pondering what to do next. He texts Allison to ask what she’s doing but gets no response. He could do homework, but he’s not in the mood. He could call Lydia to hang out with her, but she’s been pretty frosty since Jackson and his family left town.

He starts by playing an angry game on his dad’s new Wii (which he gets set up in record time, and yes he got the Wii so his dad could have fun exercising, but also so that he could use it too). Once his frustration is burned out of him, he decides to clean a little bit around the house, which ends up in him cranking his iPod and cooking.

In the midst of him banging his utensils on the pans during a drum solo, he hears a rumbling come from outside. He leans over the counter to peer out the window. A snow plow lumbers by, pushing snow back into the clean driveway, but hey, at least now he can walk towards town for some fancy coffee right?

As he’s clearing up the kitchen and storing the cooked food, his phone rings. He expects to see that Scott is calling but is surprised when the ID names Allison.

“Hey, Allison, what’s up?”

“Hey, Stiles,” Allison chirps from the other end. She actually sounds relieved to hear him. “Sorry I didn’t respond to your text earlier. Things have been crazy at the house this year.” A crash in the background seems well-timed and she seems to hesitate.

“You’ve got family over?” Stiles asks cautiously.

“Yeah, quite a few actually,” she says. The background noises seem to quiet down a little. “I guess because of my mom… a lot of her family are over this year. My dad had to get catering for the dinner.”

“Hunters?” Stiles then asks.

“Some yes, some no,” she admits, “but don’t worry. My dad is determined to have a quiet Christmas this year and everyone’s forbidden from hunting.” In a quieter voice, she adds, “Of course, he’s secluded himself in his study most of the time so I’ve had to deal with everyone. Playing hostess.” She sighs.

Stiles leans back against the counter. “Yeah, I can imagine.” He tries not to think of his mom, but the situations are so similar sometimes that he forgets not to remember.

“Anyway,” Allison sounds like she’s pulling herself together, “I’ve let my dad know that he can take over as host for a couple hours. I really need to get out of the house like right now, and I was wondering if you’d like to go into town with me for coffee?”

Stiles brightens. “Sure, that-that sounds great,” he says. “I was actually looking forward to a long and boring day today so getting coffee would be great.”

“You’re not doing anything with Scott today? I didn’t call earlier because I thought he’d be over.”

“No, he’s going snow-shoeing with Isaac and Boyd… apparently.” Stiles tries not to let the bitterness creep into his voice.

“Oh.” She sounds surprised. “Well, then, that’s perfect. I’ll leave here in a couple minutes and pick you up, okay?”

Twenty minutes later, Allison’s Mazda pulls into his driveway. He’s got his winter coat back on and he’s wearing a wolf hat with mittens that had been an annoying and inconvenient gift from a distant relative a couple years ago but now has a lot of significance, what with werewolves in his life, so he wears it now with pride. (And if his dad asks why he’s suddenly wearing it, he’s just gonna say it’s all the rage in school nowadays.)

Allison seems to appreciate the hat. She chuckles as he gets in her nice and toasty car and flaps his mittened hands at her, the fake claws waggling. “Nice,” she says, shaking her head, but her eyes are dancing with laughter, and Stiles is pleased.

“Do I look fearsome in my hat?” Stiles asks, before striking a pose, claws out, face scrunched up.

That only makes her laugh harder. She backs carefully out of his drive and they decide on a destination.

Talk with Allison on the drive there and while they wait in line is slightly stilted. They mainly talk about school work and their families’ and how their Christmases went. He tries his best because he appreciates her gesture of friendliness, but he has to admit deep down that he still doesn’t trust her. In a way he feels bad about that, but then he doesn’t. And it doesn’t help that she’s trying her best as well, going so far as to pay for his coffee and brownie.

They stake out some arm-chairs by the window and settle in quietly as they eat. Stiles looks out the window at the heavily-bundled people braving the snow and the streets that have turned to slush. He points out a couple that are sliding along the sidewalk to get to their car and they laugh as they nearly fall.

When Allison finishes her Panini, she asks, “Have you talked to Lydia at all the past couple of days?”

“No. I was going to, but the last time I spoke to her she was really upset. I didn’t want to bother her.”

Allison nods. “Well, her mother has planned a trip to where Jackson’s living so that Lydia can see him again. She’s leaving tomorrow.”

“Wow,” Stiles says, surprised, and a little disappointed.

“Yeah. I guess her mom had enough of Lydia moping.” She takes a sip. “We can go see her today. She’ll be gone for a week.”

Stiles shrugs. He doesn’t know why, but the idea of seeing Lydia after everything that’s happened doesn’t fill him with enthusiasm like it would have before. Allison seems to notice this because she frowns, so he slaps on a fake smile. “Yeah, sure, why not?”

“We don’t have to,” Allison acquiesces.

“We should though,” he adds. “Lydia’s been left out of so much the past year. It’s the least we can do.”

Allison smiles warmly. She pulls out her phone. “I’ll text her, let her know we’re coming soon. We can get her a coffee too, she’d like that.” When she puts her phone away, she leans back in her seat and sets her feet on the ridge of the low table, staring out the window. “Do you think Derek’s doing anything today?” Stiles raises his eyebrows at that and she adds quickly, “It’s just, if the guys in his pack are off snow-shoeing, where’s Erica? And if she’s not with him, does that mean he has to spend the day with his uncle? I just feel kinda bad for him if he’s alone today.”

“You’ve never cared about him before,” Stiles says, suspicious.

Allison makes a helpless little gesture. “I know,” she says. She opens her mouth again but seems lost for words. “I guess, it’s just different this year. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. After everything I’ve done… the wreck I’ve made of my relationship with Scott just because he’s a werewolf… Last year, all I wanted to do was kill Derek. I thought that would solve all my problems, get revenge for my mom… but…”

Stiles watches her critically. “I’m not really the one you need to tell this to, though. Like, I appreciate the confession. It makes me think a bit better of you because of it.” She frowns at him a little, as if surprised at that. “But am I the one you should tell this to?”

She nods, and lets go of the napkin she’d been obsessively folding. “Yeah, yeah.” She takes a deep breath and puffs it out. The gesture looks cute on her. When she looks at him again, she’s giving him her best jilted-Allison eyes. “Can we find Derek so I can apologize for everything and then buy him coffee?”

Stiles sighs. He leans his head back against the head-rest. He’d been hoping to avoid seeing Derek today, but Derek just seemed to be entrenching himself in every part of his life. “Fine,” he says, scrunching his face again. “Let’s go.”

She does a fist-pump not unlike any of Stiles’, which makes him laugh. They get back in her car and Stiles directs her to the warehouse because logically, on a cold day like today, he’d want to be somewhere that at least has some heating in it.

But no, that would have been too easy.

Peter answers the door and arches his eyebrows at the pair. He looks over Allison, who unconsciously steps back, and then turns to Stiles. “You brought _her_ here? Are you insane?”

“It’s debatable which one of us is more insane, but there it is,” Stiles says, slapping a fake smile on and trying not to step back as well. “We’re looking for Derek.”

“He’s not here,” Peter says. He shrugs. “He left hours ago.”

“Did he go with Boyd and Isaac and Scott?” Stiles asks, curious, and if the answer was yes, he was going to silently seethe at his best friend.

“No,” Peter says flatly. He frowns at Allison again then says to Stiles, “Try the house. Or you could call him and ask him where he is. But I have frankly no idea where my nephew is, and it’s not like he deems it necessary to fill me in anyways.”

With that, he closes the door. Stiles raises his eyebrows at Allison and says, “Well, he’s not here with Uncle Loony, then.”

“I heard that, Stiles!” comes through the door.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles mutters. As they walk back to her car, he asks, “Do you want to take a drive up to the house, or do you want me to call him?”

Stiles ends up texting him as they start the drive to the Hale mansion. The response is slow coming, probably because there’s not much reception up there, but Derek confirms that he’s there at the house.

The drive up into the forest is hard as the snow plows didn’t do a very good job clearing the roads here. They end up parking at the end of the Hale driveway itself and have to start trekking up the drive. For once, Stiles is glad that he wore high winter boots, but Allison is not as lucky, as she, like so many other girls he’s seen today, wore less practical boots.

“You know, maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Stiles says after Allison has to grip his arm a second time to keep from falling down. “Your toes are going to fall off before we even get up there.”

“I’m fine, Stiles,” Allison grits out. “Keep going.”

“We could call Derek and ask him to come down here,” Stiles says.

“I thought about that.”

“And?” Stiles waves his arms around.

Allison stops for a moment, panting, her face red. “Do you really think he’s gonna come down here if he hears that I’m here?”

Stiles frowns as he considers it. He has to admit, it’s not likely that Derek would have.

“I wouldn’t have,” a voice says from just behind them. They whirl and find Derek standing behind them in a (black!) parka and hiking boots. He glances at Allison, assessing, before settling his stare on Stiles. “But I could hear you guys from a mile away and I was curious. What’s going on?”

“Allison has something she’d like to say to you,” Stiles says quickly, before Allison has any chance of chickening out. He looks over at Allison, whose lips are pulled into a grim line.

Derek looks expectantly at her too. With determination, Allison takes a step forward and keeps eye contact with Derek as she tells him everything that she’d told Stiles and more, but with a lot more eloquence. It’s a long-winded apology, and Derek’s eyes flicker to Stiles at certain intervals, but when she finishes and Derek doesn’t say anything immediately, she hangs her head slightly, wrapping her arms around herself from the cold.

Derek’s face is stony and impassive, to say the least. He glances again at Stiles before he finally speaks. “What brought you to apologize?”

She hesitates, then says, “Isaac told me, about what happened. How my mom tried to kill Scott, and how you were trying to save him. And after what happened with my aunt, and then my grandfather… my family’s not the same family I knew, and the situation is so fucked-up, and I’m not helping when I react like they do.” She chuckles as she says, “I was worse than you.” She sobers quickly and looks at him again awkwardly. “I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry.”

Stiles raises and lowers his eyebrows at Derek when Derek glances over at him again. It seems to take a full minute of Derek looking out at the forest before he speaks. “I appreciate you coming to find me to apologize, and I believe you are being completely sincere, but… you have to realize I'm not going to trust you just because you’ve apologized to me. You’re an Argent. Your family has hurt my family many times, to the point of arson and murder, and you personally have attacked members of my pack with intent to kill.” He gestures widely as if to say, ‘See all that?’ “I won’t ever be able to trust you.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows at that. He looks over at Allison, who looks a little shocked, but she bobs her head and looks down. “I understand,” she murmurs.

Derek frowns at the both of them. Finally, “You guys should get home. It’s cold out. They’re calling for more snow tonight.”

Allison nods and starts back down the driveway. Stiles starts to follow, but pauses. “Thanks for meeting us halfway at least. I wasn’t sure she was gonna make it up the driveway.”

“I heard that, Stiles,” Allison says, turning back to him.

Stiles grins and holds his hands out in surrender. That earns a small smile from her. “See you later, Derek,” he says.

She waits for him, and when she doesn’t move when he reaches her, he starts past her. But she says, “Listen, do you want to come out for a coffee with us? We were gonna back to Starbucks to hang out anyways, so if you want to come, you’re more than welcome to.”

Stiles turns around to watch Derek’s reaction. Derek looks like he wants to say ‘no’, but something must be in her face because he begins to nod. “Sure, why not.” He follows them down to her car quietly.

Once they get the car heated and Derek pushes them out of a snow drift, they head back down toward the town. They end up at Starbucks again, settling into arm chairs again, fresh cups of specialty coffee in hand.

 Stiles finds it easier to make conversation now that Allison and Derek are sitting across from each other. Allison has changed her boots into a pair of slippers with dog’s heads on them, and she settles them against the edge of the table. It’s like it breaks the ice. Not that he doesn't notice Derek's antsy-ness and Allison's annoyance. But they sit there so long that they need refills and Lydia has given up waiting for them and has joined them in town.

Evening comes and they take a stroll down main street. Such a normal thing to do, that Stiles almost expects the four of them to walk hand-in-hand like couples like everybody else on that goddamned street. And considering that he and Derek are walking together behind the girls, he has a moment to reel in the fact that he’d be hand-in-hand with Mr. Sourwolf. But it’s actually nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for no Sterek scenes. This got very Stiles and Allison heavy.


	4. Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles are running from a monster. Stiles gets a few surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles always seem to be running away from things, don't they? They might as well be the Doctor and his companion. Oh well. Have some more 'running from evil'. And we start to earn a 'T' rating, ooOOOoooh.

They’re running through the forest being chased by a troll. So, things have gone back to normal again. Stiles’ life is back to being constantly in danger as he continues in his pack-adjacent status, and now he and Derek are running full out through the forest. Well, Derek is. Stiles is trying his best not to trip.

Of course, when the monster of the week is gaining on him, Stiles’ feet decide to falter over a tree root and he goes flying, smashing his arm against another tree in the process.

The troll lumbers to a stop over him. Stiles has a moment to look up into the glittering eyes of the troll as he raises his club before a fast shape slams into the troll.

“GO!” Derek yells at him as he tries to fight something that is twice the size of him.

Stiles rolls himself onto his knees, cradling his arm to his chest—it’s not broken, he doesn’t think it is—and stands up weakly. He starts running again, even more awkward now that he has only one arm to balance himself, and only startles a little bit when Derek pops up beside him, several new gashes rapidly healing along his forehead.

The troll roars behind them and the pounding of large feet begins again. Derek quickens his pace a little, but doesn’t stray too far from Stiles this time, for which he’s grateful. Then they rush through a bush and Stiles’ feet suddenly shift further downward than he’d like.

“Ravine,” Derek tells him, after steadying him.

“Yeah, I got that impression,” Stiles mumbles back, panting.

The slope down is steep, and in the dark, infinitely treacherous. All in all, Stiles is definitely regretting following the pack into the woods at night. And he knows it was just a matter of time when he loses his footing and starts tumbling down the hill.

Somehow, Derek manages to catch him in his arms, hold him close, and roll with him down the ravine. When they finally hit the bottom, Derek grimaces as his back takes the full-force of the fall and Stiles lands on top of him, hitting their heads together.

“Oww,” Stiles grumbles. He starts to use his injured arm to push himself off of Derek, but pain flares hot and angry up his arm. He whimpers and collapses back on top of Derek, holding his arm to his chest gingerly. “Ow, ow ow ow, ow…”

“Are you okay?” Derek asks, nostrils flaring, trying to look down at Stiles’ arm.

Stiles bites down on his lip, not willing to say ‘no’. “Mmm,” is all he gets out.

Derek pushes them both up and moves Stiles into a sitting position. He checks the area for any activity. So far, the troll seems to have disappeared. Then he holds out his hands to Stiles. Stiles takes a deep breath and holds his arm out.

Derek touches it gently. The pain flares more in certain spots than others. Maybe Stiles was too quick to dismiss a broken arm. “We need to get you to Melissa, some of these gashes go pretty deep—”

Off to their left, something crashes through the trees as if falling down the ravine’s slope. Must be the troll. Derek pulls Stiles up, careful of his injured arm, and hauls him over to a grove of trees growing closely together. He pushes Stiles in and then follows quickly after, body pressed close against Stiles’.

Stiles bites down on his tongue to keep from making any noise. The crashing noises stop and the troll roars. Rustling of trees like the troll is getting up. Derek tenses over Stiles, body hovering protectively over him. Silence for a beat, then something gets thwacked. Derek gets himself ready. Then the sound of feet stomping through the woods.

When the sounds get closer, Derek plasters himself against Stiles. Stiles suddenly finds it difficult to concentrate on what is happening with a rock-solid Derek Hale trying to push him into a tree as if the tree would swallow him whole. Stiles swallows. He tries to position his arm away from Derek where it would receive the least pain, but the briefest movement lets him know that he is still very interested in Derek Hale.

He stills and looks up at the dark canopy of trees above him, tries not to think about Derek plastered against him. How mortifying. He nearly breaks his arm and gets an inconvenient erection in the span of twenty minutes. Great. Just great. It doesn’t help that Derek’s leg is right against his groin.

The troll suddenly roars close by, and Stiles jumps and nearly jumps again when the movement sends a flare of arousal to his dick. He clamps his mouth shut to keep from gasping and really hopes Derek doesn’t notice anything. Not that he wouldn’t, but you know, there’s always hope.

When the troll roars again, he’s much farther away. Derek’s muscles loosen and he begins to pull back from Stiles. Now that Stiles isn’t plastered against a tree, he’s starting to feel the bruises, both from the fall and from the hard bark digging into his back.

Stiles waits until Derek nods and begins to get out of the grove of trees. “Come on,” Derek says softly, letting Stiles go first. They’re both silent on the way out of the forest. By the time they get to the McCalls, Stiles figures Derek isn’t going to mention his erection. They’re both guys after all. Have to expect something like that is gonna happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this seems out of left field after the previous chapter, it's because it was written after a long and slightly depressing chapter that I haven't decided if I like yet. So, I wanted to write some fun times ;)


	5. Show-off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek 'patrols'. It's a legitimate exercise in keeping his pack protected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'T' rating definitely earned this round.  
> Chapter tag/warning: masturbation, possibly an element of dub-con, paranoia

Every day, Derek does rounds of the pack’s family’s houses. After what happened with the Alpha pack and with how new his pack is, he doesn’t take the chance anymore. Paranoid or not, he figures it’s safer to double-check on his pups and humans when they’re home.

He rounds the corner of the neighbourhood to Stiles’ house, eyes moving over anything new in the scenery. The old lady has left her rotor-tiller out again. There are several toys outside of the young family’s home. He takes note of the cars parked in driveways and along the street, but doesn’t see anything suspicious.

He’s about to move on when he notices a spike in heartbeat. He focuses in on the sound. It’s not from any of the other houses. It’s coming from Stiles’.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He walks quickly and unobtrusively across the street to the Stilinski house. He doesn’t bother with the front door, just starts around to the side where he climbs up the side of the house. The closer he gets, the louder the heartbeat is. When he realizes it’s coming from Stiles’ room, he blindly zeroes in on the window to the bedroom.

The heartbeat stutters as Derek quietly opens the window. For a second, he thinks it’s too late, that Stiles is already dead, when he looks up and sees a similar frightened expression coming from the bed. The bed… whose occupant is currently naked…

“Derek!” Stiles squeaks, flailing.

“Oh God,” Derek mutters, climbing back out the window.

But not before he’s caught a glimpse of a long, lean body, beginning to harden with muscle, and long fingers grasping a hard cock. Derek smacks his head against the siding when the image won’t leave his head. Shit.

There is scrambling inside the room. Stiles’ voice precedes him as he comes to the window. “Jesus, Derek, what are you doing here?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry,” Derek says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Stiles sticks his head out the window, hair mussed in different directions. He’s wearing sweatpants now, but his chest is still bare. Knowing that he probably doesn’t have any boxers on underneath those sweatpants is… giving Derek some pretty interesting pictures.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles grinds out. Derek notices how large the boy’s biceps have gotten.

“I—” what was he doing there? “I was just passing by, heard your heartbeat spike, thought you were in trouble.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at him skeptically. “It didn’t occur to you that a teenage boy might be masturbating?!”

Derek snorts. “Nope.”

“Well, great. I really appreciate you barging in on a private session between me and my dick and spoiling it all. Thanks. Really, great timing.”

Derek suddenly has this irresistible urge to push Stiles back into his bedroom, throw him on the bed, and fuck his brains out until the kid screams his name. He knows Stiles would enjoy it. He’s smelled the boy’s arousal in his presence more often than not. And it would be so easy to just follow his instincts and take Stiles. Fuck him hard, fill him up, then fuck him again.

But Derek says, “Sorry.” He smirks at Stiles as he backs up from the window. “Enjoy your evening.” Then he steps off the roof.

The jolt to his legs when he lands clears his head. He hears the words “Show-off” float down to him, then the window closes and Stiles presumably goes back to his alone time. Now with a fresh visual of Derek in his mind. Derek does his best to shake that off and walks out of the area as quickly as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted from some other masturbation fics, especially 'Who's Laughing Now' (one of my favourites). But then I started thinking about how these wolves get clues from people's heart rates and, well, one thought led to another...


	6. Between Two Points

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott finds Stiles and Allison studying. Awkward...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is out of chronological order from the other chapters. Sorry! :)  
> This takes place at the beginning of the school year after Allison asks Stiles to be friends. I tried not to repeat too much of Stiles' hesitation towards Allison from one of the previous chapters.

Hanging out with Allison turns out to be a lot like hanging out with Scott, and in some respects, even better. It turns out that she is wicked good at video games, can match Stiles for sarcastic wit, and can keep up with him in school. The fact that she knows about werewolves too is an added bonus because then they can commiserate in their fragile humanity together. He ends up enjoying their new friendship (without Scott, that is) and starts to seek her out more often than he ordinarily would have.

Sometimes, it surprises him. Here he is, on easy speaking terms with the girl who nearly slaughtered Derek’s pack just a couple months ago and broke his best friend’s heart. He did often catch himself checking her over for any sign of recurring homicidal activity, but none seemed to be forthcoming at the moment.

Except whenever she saw Scott talking to another girl in the hallway. Or talking to Isaac. Then her stare would probably match Derek's.

So Stiles would promptly distract her with something from their previous class and in a few moments she was back to normal again.

Lately, they’d been studying in the cafeteria together. Stiles’ schedule hadn’t included much of Scott in his free periods since Scott had been held back, but Allison had the same free period and lunch period, so he figured, why not. They helped each other with homework, often chose each other for projects, and sometimes sat together in class when Scott didn’t share a class with him.

It was nice, having a girl for a friend. Not that he hadn’t had girl-friends before, but those ones were mostly when he was, uh… ten. Hanging out with Allison was giving him a lot of perspective into the female species though. Perhaps even enough to speak with Lydia more frequently without chickening out from fear of being too much of a geek. He also appreciated when Allison invited Lydia to sit with them for studying, or when she included her in group projects, so that Stiles was, more often than not, in the company of two of the hottest girls in school.

(He would fist-pump the air every time he remembered this if he weren’t afraid of embarrassing himself in front of both of them.)

The only problem was that he hadn’t quite figured out how to tell Scott that he was friends with Allison. In a way, he was sure that Scott could probably smell Allison on him, so confession time would be either unnecessary or definitely in order, depending on Scott’s mood. But since Scott never brought it up, Stiles never spat it out. And the more Scott hung out with Isaac, the more Stiles hung out with Allison.

Today was no different. Instead of staying in bed through his free first period, Stiles had come to school at Allison’s request and they were going through the history of the Trojan War together for an essay. Allison had her laptop and Stiles had his books spread around him. They were currently arguing over a significant event of the war when Stiles’ phone beeped with a text message.

It was Scott. ‘Dude, free period! Teacher let us out early. Where r u?’

_Fuck_ , Stiles thought.

He would have readily welcomed having his best friend sitting beside him, were it not for the fact that he was sitting with his best friend’s ex-girlfriend. He sighs, and replies, ‘Writing essay in cafeteria.’ He looks up at Allison, who glances up at him while typing. She just gives him a small, wonderfully oblivious smile.

He sighs and says, “Scott’s got a free period today. He wants to know where I am.”

Allison’s eyes stay glued to her laptop screen, and he swears that there’s stiffness in her posture that wasn’t there before. “Oh, okay.”

“That’s—that’s okay?” Stiles asks. “Because we can just high-tail it out of here and go work somewhere else, like the library. Though he would probably smell us and follow us.”

“It’s fine,” Allison says. She flicks her eyes up at him and gives him another small smile, but this one has less certainty in it than before. “He’s your best friend. It’s okay. I can always leave and you two can hang out.”

Stiles considers this, but shakes his head. He then texts, ‘BTW, working w/ Allison. Is that okay?’

After the text sends, Stiles tries to go back to his essay, but suddenly it just looks like black letters now. He has an odd taste in his mouth and he realizes that it’s been a couple minutes since he sent the text and he hasn’t received anything back. He looks up at Allison, but she has her chin propped and looks intensely focused on something on her laptop. He looks back at his own work, but he’s starting to get a little anxious. Scott should have texted something by now.

He begins to be resigned to his fate. If Scott is angry with him, then he’s gonna cut it off with Allison. He never liked hurting his best friend, not purposely anyways. And it was starting to feel like he was hurting Scott now.

The cafeteria door opens and closes with a thud, and Stiles looks up. Scott looks wary. So, he’s received Stiles’ text then. Scott’s eyes flicker from Stiles to Allison, who is currently still intent on her laptop. For a moment, Scott and Stiles lock eyes. Stiles can’t see any anger or disappointment in his friend’s eyes. He doesn’t know whether he should be relieved or not, except for the fact that it’s like Scott is trying his best to hide his emotions.

Then Scott starts walking towards them through the maze of chairs and tables. Stiles didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until it whooshes out of him in surprise. The draft moves Allison’s hair into her face, so she looks up and sees Scott too, and she freezes. Then Allison and Scott stare at each other, a world of hesitation in both of them.

Scott nearly bumps into a table, he’s so focused on Allison. When he manages to get to their table, he’s still staring at Allison. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Allison says back.

Stiles feels his body relax. For how intensely they were looking at each other, it was like Stiles didn’t even exist. He decides to forgo the romantic anxiety of the two lovebirds and goes back to his studying.

“I haven’t seen you for awhile,” he hears Scott say. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been okay,” Allison says after a beat. “How are you?”

“Still surviving,” Scott says. From his tone, it sounds like he has a goofy smile on his face. Then his tone gets anxious, “Do you mind if I join you guys?”

“Sure, yeah, go ahead,” Allison says immediately.

Stiles looks up to see some happiness filter through Scott’s face as he hurriedly disposes of his backpack in a neighbouring chair and sits down next to Stiles. He looks at their books, drums his fingers on the table. Stiles narrows his eyes at him. Scott sees his expression and gets the point. He gets his own books out. Not that he’s gonna do any work, if the way he keeps looking up at Allison is any indication.

After a moment of awkward silence, Allison asks, “Do you want me to go? ‘Cause I can work somewhere else—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Scott says immediately. “You can stay here. It’s not awkward at all.” But he’s frowning at himself after saying that.

Stiles looks between Scott and Allison. Allison looks unsure, and Scott looks like he wants to kick himself. Stiles sighs. He’d hoped to avoid the love drama for at least a little longer.

He hears the cafeteria’s kitchen doors begin to open. The kitchen lady is an old woman with a hair net and a grim expression of hatred for her life. But she’s opening the doors to the kitchen, to coffee, and to freedom (even if temporary) from Scott+Allison.

He jumps to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over. Scott expertly grabs it for him and rights it. “Thanks, buddy,” Stiles says. “I’m gonna go get a coffee. Anybody want anything?”

Allison shakes her head, but Scott says, “Yeah, I’ll go with you,” jumping up himself. Stiles starts towards the kitchen, sighing, and hears Scott say, “Sure you don’t want anything? Cookies? Tea? They’ve got some really good cookies.”

Stiles doesn’t hear what Allison says. He ducks into the kitchen, nods politely at the kitchen lady, and makes a beeline for the coffee machines. It’s too early for this Romeo and Juliet shit. He’s filled a tall cup with a hazelnut flavored coffee when Scott joins him, antsy. Scott starts filling a cup of coffee for himself, albeit a smaller one than Stiles.

They have a minute of silence, where Stiles adjusts his coffee to the way he likes it, when Scott breaks it. Finally. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Scott asks quietly.

“I don’t know, man,” Stiles murmurs. Scott frowns at him, annoyed. “Okay, okay! I just—I thought it would hurt you. I mean, I’m studying with Allison. You know, your ex-girlfriend.”

“Yeah, I know,” Scott says irritably.

“O-kay.” Stiles moves them onto the snacks section and grabs an apple and a granola bar. He notices Scott choosing two cookies, one presumably for Allison. Stiles stops and leans back against the counter. “I’m sorry, man.”

Scott sighs and leans back beside him. “I kinda figured you guys were hanging out. I mean, I’m not in most of your classes anymore, and I started smelling her on you more and more, so… I kinda figured.” He squints at the wall opposite. “It’s just, it’s odd, you know?”

“Yep.” Stiles pops the ‘p’ with much gusto.  He considers the kitchen lady, who is glaring at them from behind her till, waiting for them, then turns back to Scott. “Do you want me to stop hanging out with her?”

“No,” Scott says. “No. It’s cool. I mean, it’d be like you telling me to stop hanging out with Isaac.” Stiles tries not to let his bitterness tilt his mouth into a sneer over that one. “I mean, we’re allowed to have other friends, right? It can’t always be just us. Though I’d like it to,” he adds in at the last minute.

Though Stiles felt better about Scott’s admission, this was getting a bit too… sappy. Stiles grimaces. “If you start saying ‘we’re allowed to date other people’, I will hit you over the head with this apple. Many, many times.” Scott’s mouth tilts up and he opens his mouth as if to say it, so Stiles starts brandishing the apple like a weapon. “Many, many times, Scott!”

Scott chuckles. “Okay, okay.” They go to the till to pay for their food. First customers of the day. The kitchen lady does not look impressed though.


	7. On Making a Home and Tearing One Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes skiing with the pack and Derek invites everyone for a dinner.

The snow stays on the ground for several more days during winter break. Allison digs up enough extra skis so that she, Stiles, and Erica could out-run the others with their snowshoes. They spend several hours one day racing each other through the preserve along the covered hiking trails and between the trees. Allison was easily the best out of all of them (but that wasn’t any different – she seemed to be scary good at everything) and kept beating everyone to the edge of the forest.

Stiles found that he was okay with cross-country skiing. What little skiing he’d done had been during family vacations when he was younger, usually on fake snow. Real snow proved to be an excellent stabilizer as he stumbled across the paths with Erica keeping pace behind him.

Scott was trying his best to keep up with Allison. More often than not, Scott went flying into a snow drift after tripping over his own feet in his haste to keep up, and Stiles and Erica have a good laugh as they come up along beside him after his latest ass-over-heels.

“Fucking hell,” Scott moans as Stiles and Erica stop beside him. Allison had giggled and kept going, leaving Scott behind. “Hey, man, can you give me a hand?”

“And risk you bringing me down with you?” Stiles asks, as he grins down at Scott. “I don’t think so, man, but good luck!” His grin gets wider as Scott splutters at him and attempts to right himself, resulting him in looking like a squirmy dog on his back.

“See ya, Scott!” Erica yells back at him as they move on. She turns back to Stiles, laughing silently.

Allison slows down for them as they cruise down a small hill. When they catch up to her, she’s looking at them expectantly. “Gonna keep up?” she challenges.

“Oh, you’re on!” Erica agrees. Allison’s smile is nervous but full as she and Erica push off and ski for the next hill. Stiles sighs and tries his best to keep up with the two ladies currently competing, but they get up and over the hill before he reaches the bottom.

“So not fair,” Stiles mutters.

“Need any help?” says a voice to his left.

Stiles’ skis slip backwards a little as he wobbles towards the voice. He manages to catch a glimpse of a dark jacket before the world starts tilting and strong hands catch hold of his arms and pull him upright.

“Thanks, man,” Stiles says to Derek. He surveys Derek up and down when he has better balance. “So, you decided to join us? Or are you just out on a nice country stroll watching us, you big creeper?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I think I’d prefer the ‘nice country stroll’,” he says. His lips twitch. “But you looked like you needed some help getting over this hill.”

“Nope! I don’t need any help. I’m a Stilinski, and Stilinskis can take on hills in skis.” He resolutely shifts back around and starts back up the hill.

As if just to make fun of him, Derek keeps pace with him in his hiking boots. Hell, he even gets a little further up than Stiles before turning back around to wait for him, smiling sardonically with an eyebrow raised elegantly, like this is a piece of cake… the bastard.

At the top, Stiles takes a few deep breaths, pretending to survey the landscape. He’s not out of breath, what are you talking about? No, he’s just admiring the clumps of trees laid out before him. Very pretty sight.

Derek shuffles his feet. “Any time you like, Stiles. I’ve got all day.” The bastard’s grinning at him.

“Fine.” Stiles pushes off and races down the hill. He follows the trail through a bend and loses sight of Derek.

After skiing by himself for a bit, Isaac pops out from the trees. It startles Stiles so much that he slows down and nearly hits a tree, then Stiles starts laughing as Isaac tumbles over a bank of snow, landing facedown. As Derek catches up with them, Isaac pulls himself up to kneel, snow sticking to his curly hair and his face red.

“I can’t believe it!” Stiles says. “I’m not the worst one here for losing their feet.”

“Shut up Stilinski,” Isaac grumbles. But Derek’s chuckling too and pulling Isaac up and back onto his feet like he weighed nothing more than a doll.

“Show-off,” Stiles and Isaac grumble at the same time. They look at each other, surprised. Derek takes a bow to both of them and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Keep moving,” Derek tells them. “We’ve got dinner waiting for us at the house.”

Isaac raises his eyebrows at Derek. He looks skeptical with a mix of hope dashed in there. Something passes between Derek and Isaac. Meanwhile, Stiles feels envious and a little left out, mostly because the thought of dinner is making him hungry.

“Having pack dinners now, are you?” Stiles asks, as they start forward again.

“Why not?” Derek asks back.

“As far as I know, you’ve never had pack dinners before,” Stiles says.

“Is there a problem with my having pack dinners, Stiles?” Derek frowns at him.

“No, not at all,” Stiles says, momentarily holding his poles up in surrender.

Derek doesn’t say anything else, so they keep going. Derek and Isaac joke back and forth as they go. Stiles only adds in his comments every once in awhile. Most of the time, he watches the camaderie that has been built between the other two. The easiness with which the pair speaks with each other, the fact that Derek can almost anticipate Isaac’s answers as if he already knows them himself.

Stiles marvels at how far Derek’s come as the Alpha. It wasn’t easy to watch either. Half the time, Stiles felt like strangling Derek himself with how much the man seemed to blunder his way through being an effective leader, and there was that point where even Isaac had disagreed with Derek so much that the whole pack had temporarily aligned themselves with Scott and Stiles back when the Alpha pack came through. That had been a particularly bleak time.

But watching them now, it was almost as if none of that had even happened. As if Derek had been the Alpha all along and hadn’t had to learn along the way.

Stiles is unaware of the fact that he’s watching both Isaac and Derek too closely until Derek sighs and asks, “What is it, Stiles?”

Stiles shakes his head quickly. “Nothing.” He resolutely turns his eyes back forward.

The conversation lapses as they near the forest edge. They find Allison leaning against a fence, typing something on her phone. A couple feet away, Erica has perched herself on top of the fence.

“Derek!” Erica calls. She grins. “Finally caved in?”

“No,” Derek grumbles.

“He was just spying on us,” Stiles suggests. When Derek frowns at him, Stiles nods his head. “Yep, you were, buddy. No use denying it. You didn’t want to leave the fun to us.”

Scott and Boyd catch up then. Boyd and Derek greet eagerly, as if they hadn’t seen each other in awhile. Scott just nods, who nods back at him. The girls have already shucked their skis so Derek leans against the fence next to Erica as the boys do the same. Scott falls flat on his ass again.

“Next time, I am using skis!” Scott shouts. He starts flinging his snowshoes everywhere.

“I don’t think that’s gonna be much of an improvement for you,” Isaac teases.

“So, who won?” Stiles asks.

Erica raises both her arms while Allison begrudgingly points at her. “I did!” Erica chirps. Allison shrugs at Stiles.

“So, when you say dinner, did you mean take-out?” Isaac asks Derek. Scott and Allison look over at Derek as if it’s the first time they’ve heard of it.

Derek shakes his head. “No, we’re cooking.”

“Where?” Erica asks. “Don’t tell me we’re eating out of the warehouse.”

Derek smiles at her, shaking her head. “Nope, it’s a surprise.” Everyone looks at him then. “Don’t worry, it’s a safe place to eat from.”

As the others argue between each other, Stiles looks closer at Derek. “What, finally got the house renovated?”

Derek stiffens. Only Isaac seems to have heard though, or even noticed Stiles’ comment, because the fact that the others aren’t paying attention to them makes Derek ease up a little bit. “Way to ruin the surprise, Stilinski,” Derek grumbles at him.

“Sorry, man,” Stiles says, wincing. He stands his last ski up against a tree and asks, “So, when am I gonna see the ‘surprise’?”

Derek looks at him in confusion. “Uh, for dinner?”

“Wait, you mean I’m invited?” Stiles asks, breathily. For some reason, he’s very interested in the answer.

Derek considers his reaction before stalking forward and cuffing him lightly on the side of his head, saying, “Of course you are, idiot!”

Stiles rubs at the side of his head, wincing. “Thanks,” he says. His throat has gone dry and he can’t look at Derek anymore.

“No problem,” Derek says, earnest. He squeezes Stiles’ shoulder before moving on to find Scott and extend the invitation to him.

When he’s got his breathing back under control, Stiles notices Allison has withdrawn against the fence. She’s glancing between him and Scott, frowning, looking out of place. But Scott hasn’t noticed yet. He’s too busy with Isaac and Derek. Isaac seems to be trying to convince Scott to come. So Stiles walks over to Allison.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, aware that Erica is still on the fence within hearing range.

Allison shrugs. “Yeah, I guess… I’m just not sure whether Derek would want to invite me too. And whether I should really accept it. I mean, I know I’m not everyone’s favourite person right now.”

“Hey, you’re out here with us,” Stiles points out. “We didn’t leave you at home. In fact, you made it possible for the rest of us to come out today.” Louder he yells at Scott, “Some of us don’t have snowshoes!” Scott just shrugs at him, frowning, having no idea what they’re talking about. The others just glance over before resuming their conversation. Stiles smiles a little. “Ass.”

Allison stuffs her hands in her jacket pockets. After a moment, she says, “But seriously, do you think Derek would even want me there?”

Stiles considers Allison, how uncomfortable she’s making herself. He glances at Erica who is pointedly not looking at them with her lips drawn in a grim line. He knows Allison is not Erica’s favourite person, so she’s not gonna get an invitation from her.

Stiles sighs. “Hey, Derek?!” while Allison prods him, mumbling, “No, don’t—”

“Yeah?” Derek looks at him.

“Can Allison come to dinner too?” Stiles asks.

Derek looks over at Allison. She forces herself to look at him too. Derek nods. “Yeah, that’s fine,” he says. Then he looks around at his wolves. “If that’s okay with everyone else?”

Boyd and Erica don’t look too happy, but they shrug, and Isaac nods. That seems to seal the deal for Allison, and for Scott, who agrees with a huff. Of course, anywhere Allison goes, Scott is gonna go too.

Arguments settled, everyone grabs their gear and starts through the gate back to the road that will lead them… wherever they’re going.

Oh, right, they’re going to the Hale house. Stiles can’t help feel excited at the prospect of seeing what the house looks like and how far they’ve gotten in the renovations. When Derek starts up the plowed driveway, the excitement level escalates as the idea kicks in. Erica even jumps onto Derek’s back and he willingly carries her up the drive, her arms clutched tight around him.

The Camaro is parked in front of the house. The part of the house that had been still standing looks the same, but the other side that had been gaping open to the elements, from what Stiles can see in the fading light, looks more robust, more complete. It even looks like there is electricity now, from the glowing light coming through some of the bottom floor windows.

“Have you been renovating it?” Erica asks as Derek lets her down.

“Yep,” Derek nods. “We’ve got half the house done completely for now. We’ve got light, heat, running water. We’ll have to wait awhile to start on the other side.” He opens the door and stands back. Nobody moves, and he sighs. “It’s structurally sound, I promise.”

The betas go first, eager and excited and grinning. Scott follows after Isaac, and Stiles and Allison after them. They end up last in the foyer, which still has the flame-licked flooring. An incessant flapping noise comes from their left. “We had to tarp the windows on the other side of the house for now,” Derek explains. “Window panes haven’t been added in yet.”

Derek takes them through to the dining room, which is sparsely decorated but completely new. It looks like a fire has never touched it in the first place. The walls are paneled in dark mahogany, with matching flooring. A brand new, long table has been added to the middle of the room and there is an empty china cabinet against one wall. The table has been set for ten placements already.

“Make yourselves at home,” Derek says. He shucks his jacket onto a chair at the head of the table and continues through the door on the other side of the room. As the door swings shut, delicious smells fill the air.

Everyone starts taking seats. Allison sticks close to Stiles and sits on his left, dumping her jacket on the chair beside her. Scott looks at him in askance, looking a little hurt, and Stiles shrugs. Scott moves to take the seat that has Derek’s jacket on it at the head of the table, but Isaac shakes his head at him. Scott makes sad eyes at Stiles and Allison as he moves to where Isaac is sitting. He takes the empty seat across from the ‘taken’ seat. Boyd sits opposite Stiles, and Erica opposite Allison. With Derek at the head of the table, that leaves three extra placements.

Stiles frowns at the opposite head of the table to the placement laid out there. He breaks the silence, “So, does that mean that Uncle Peter is joining us?”

Everyone looks at the other end of the table. Isaac shrugs. “I guess so.”

Both Scott and Stiles sigh in annoyance.

“Smells like Peter set the table,” Boyd announces.

“So that’s where the horrible smell of death is coming from,” Scott deadpans. Stiles snorts. The others, who’ve only known the Peter after the resurrection, stare at them blankly.

“Who are the other placements for?” Allison asks quietly. “Does anybody know?”

Erica stares at her, but shakes her head. When the staring becomes too obvious and Allison lowers her head, Stiles flings a napkin at Erica. It hits her squarely in the forehead, and hey! Point for Stiles. But Erica only moves her head to Stiles and frowns over at him. He scrunches his face at her to ask, ‘What are you doing?’ but that only makes her laugh quietly. He rolls his eyes.

“Does that mean Peter’s cooking?” Scott asks suddenly. The look on his face…

“God, I hope not,” Stiles says, his face probably mirroring Scott’s.

“And what’s wrong with my cooking?” Peter’s voice precedes him as he enters the dining room, followed by Derek. Both are holding platters with dishes heaped with food. It smells delicious, but Stiles is now uneasy about it. Who knows what poisons Peter has slipped into the food just for kicks.

Stiles opens his mouth to state the obvious, but Derek beats him to it, saying, “I personally inspected each of the dishes to make sure there was no wolfsbane or mountain ash or any other poisonous plants in them.” He sets his platter down in front of his plate and re-adjusts his jacket to drape his chair.

“So, you started without us, huh?” Stiles asks fake-seriously, arching an eyebrow at him.

Derek rolls his eyes as he sits down beside Stiles. Peter does indeed sit opposite Derek and places his own platter on the other end of the table. That one has the meat on it, which annoys Stiles, because knowing the werewolves, by the time that platter gets to Stiles, there won’t be any meat left. Sure enough, Peter and then Isaac start heaping large pieces of meat onto their plates.

Derek must notice what Stiles is looking at because he says, “And if everybody can be sure to leave enough food for the humans…”

Isaac looks at his plate. He grabs the meat dish back from Scott and takes a piece from his plate and puts it back. “Sorry,” he says to Stiles and Allison.

Derek even makes it a point to pass the dishes to Stiles first after he takes his helpings. “Thanks,” Stiles murmurs.

Once the food is passed around and everyone starts eating, Stiles asks, “So, who are the extra placements for?”

“Well, one is for Lydia,” Peter replies ahead of Derek.

Allison looks between Peter and Derek. “You guys consider Lydia as part of your pack?”

Derek opens his mouth but Peter again beats him to it. “Not pack necessarily. More like pack-adjacent. She hasn’t declared her intentions to join us, but she can if she wants. Humans can be pack, you know.”

Derek frowns across the table at his uncle, who shrugs innocently. “The last place is for Jackson,” Derek continues. “In case his parents decide to move back to Beacon Hills, there will be a place at the table waiting for him.”

“But Jackson’s a jackass,” Erica grumbles. “And it’s not like he wants to be part of the pack.”

“It’s his first-turned,” Peter says, smiling knowingly to Erica while evading Derek’s glare. “First-turneds always have a fond place in our hearts.” Then he pointedly looks at Scott, who looks creeped out. Stiles tries not to laugh and has to bite on his lips.

“Nevertheless,” Derek says firmly, “whether he’s a jackass or not, he is a werewolf now. He deserves a shelter when he needs it.”

“So does that mean you guys will be setting a place for him every time you have a dinner?” Stiles asks, unable to keep himself from it.

Derek looks like he’s restraining himself from puffing out angry steam. “No,” he says. “Just for tonight. Our first dinner, all together, under the Hale roof.”

From the serious face Derek has, Stiles almost regrets saying anything. Almost. Mercifully, Scott neglects to say anything about not being a part of his pack. Perhaps he was settling for being ‘pack-adjacent’.

The food was delicious, Stiles had to admit. Whatever Peter’s faults were, being terrible at cooking was not one of them. And no one dropped dead from poisoning, so that was a plus.

After dinner, Derek had everyone clean up together. Erica cleared the table, Scott carried the dishes into the kitchen, Boyd washed, Isaac dried, Allison wiped down the table and the other surfaces, while Stiles packed away the excess food into the brand-new fridge. The kitchen had been entirely redone as well, with sparkling stainless steel equipment and marble counter-tops. It also looked like Peter and Derek had been spending a lot of time in there already.

Stiles snuck looks into the cupboards as he worked. There was lots of food in there, nothing lacking. It was the perfect kitchen. Stiles kinda wished he could cook in there himself.

Boyd and Isaac were still cleaning when Allison joined Stiles in the kitchen. “Do you need a ride home?” he asks.

“No, just back into town,” Allison says. “I left my car at the coffee shop.”

Stiles nods. “Well, whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready when you are,” she tells him.

“Right.” He hops down from the counter where he’d been watching Boyd and Isaac, drinking a beer he’d snagged from the fridge. He goes into the dining room to find Scott. Derek and Peter are still at the dinner table, enjoying after-dinner drinks, and Scott has settled in Erica’s chair. He looks uncomfortable but is participating in whatever conversation they’re having.

“Hey, Scott,” Stiles breaks in. “Allison and I are heading home now. You need a ride?”

Scott hesitates. There’s something in his eyes that Stiles can’t define, but he knows it’s being directed at him, and then at Allison, when she steps back into the dining room to grab her coat. She thanks both Derek and Peter in the time it takes Scott to decide.

“Sure,” Scott says, easing himself out of his chair. “I’m just gonna say bye to the others.”

“Yeah, no prob,” Stiles says. Stiles goes to grab his coat too. Peter coughs from the other end of the table and gets up to excuse himself. Stiles frowns at that, but is frankly too glad to have the creepy uncle out of any room he is in himself.

When Scott doesn’t come back right away, Stiles sits back into his seat beside Derek. Now being the only one sitting at the table with Derek, he feels a little odd. Derek is staring at his bottle of beer. Allison yawns. She sits down in her seat too. Stiles starts to drum his fingers on the table, but that seems to annoy Derek, who grabs both of Stiles’ hands with one hand. Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles and Stiles raises his eyebrows in innocence.

The moment Derek releases his hands he goes back to tapping the table again. Derek grabs them again and glares. Stiles smirks.

Scott chooses then to return to the dining room. Stiles moves to get up, and so does Allison, but Scott shakes his head. With a huff, Stiles sits back down.

“I’ve made up my mind,” Scott begins, and Stiles gets the feeling he’s not only talking to Derek, but to Stiles as well. “I’ve decided to join you, as part of your pack. No more secrets, no more lies. You can be my Alpha. And the same goes for Stiles and Allison too.”

Whoa. Where did this come from? Stiles gapes at Scott, but Scott is avoiding his eyes. He glances over at Allison, but she looks as shocked as Stiles.

Derek had been looking steadily at Scott while he spoke, but he tensed and said, “Thank you, Scott, but I’m sure Stiles and Allison would like to decide for themselves whether or not they’d want to join my pack. Our pack.”

Scott mumbles, “I think we all know where Stiles would go.”

Stiles’ jaw drops even further. “Excuse me?” he scoffs.

Scott looks up at him, annoyed. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

“Pleased? About what, that you’re automatically assuming that I’d go to Derek before I’d go to you?”

“Yeah, I was assuming that actually.”

“Why?!” He flails his arms so wildly that Allison grabs his beer from him.

“Because you haven’t talked to me about anything supernatural-related since before the Alpha pack came through.”

“Uh, yeah, I have.”

“No, you haven’t. I found out about Erica’s injury through Isaac. That time with the nest of dragons? That was through Boyd. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been hanging out with my ex-girlfriend more than you’ve been hanging out with me.”

Allison starts to say something, but Stiles cuts her off, laughing darkly. “No, you know what? Yeah, maybe I have been going to Derek more than I’ve been going to you, and you know why? Maybe because when I want to hang out with my best friend, he’s never available. I swear, every single time I try to make plans with you, it’s all ‘Oh, I’ve gone over to Isaac’s’, or ‘Oh Boyd found snowshoes, just three pairs’. I had to convince Allison to look for her skis just so I could tag along today!” He slams his hands on the table to make a point.

Scott’s face has closed off. In fact, he’s staring at the table, not at Stiles. Stiles shakes his head at him, and when he starts speaking again, he’s speaking lower. “It goes both ways, dude. When you had your big grand plan set in motion for Gerard, you didn’t even consider telling me anything about it.”

“I couldn’t tell you!” Scott whines, looking at him again.

“Some of us would debate you with that,” Derek mumbles.

“No, I literally couldn’t!” Scott yells. “The more people who knew about the plan, the harder it would have been to pull off! You all know that!”

“That is no way to speak to your Alpha,” Peter says, coming back into the room.

“Shut up!”

“I still think it’s a pretty shitty thing to do,” Stiles says.

“Well, it’s a pretty shitty thing to hang out with your best friend’s ex-girlfriend!”

“Scott—” Allison begins.

“No, you know what? You can walk home. I’m done.” Stiles gets up and gestures to Allison to do the same. She hesitates, but decides to get up anyways.

“Stiles!” Scott yells.

Stiles ignores him and heads for the door. But when he gets to it, he stops and looks back at Derek. Derek has turned towards him slightly, a frowny if unreadable expression on his face. “I’ll let you know what I decide,” Stiles tells him. Derek nods slowly.

Allison keeps pace beside him. It turns out that the walk down the drive to the parking lot in the preserve does a lot to clear Stiles’ head. He’s still angry, and he hadn’t realized just how angry he’d be about the whole Scott-situation until he exploded just a minute ago, but now he feels calmer, more sure. It also helps that Allison doesn’t say anything as they walk.

When they get into his Jeep though, Allison says, “Maybe we should stop hanging out.”

Stiles feels like pounding his head against the steering wheel. He gets the heater going and reverses out of his spot. For awhile, he drives down out of the mountains in silence. But he shakes his head as he gets closer to a main road. “I’m not going to lose you too just because Scott is being a pumpkin-head.”

“A pumpkin-head?” Allison laughs.

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” Stiles says. He takes a deep breath and blows it back out to calm himself. “We’re friends, Allison. I’ve lost too many friends. I don’t want to lose another.”

She’s silent, looking at him, he can tell. Then, “But at the expense of Scott? He’s your best friend. You shouldn’t sabotage that.”

“Best friend? I don’t think—I just think—he hasn’t been my best friend in a long time… maybe since he became a werewolf. I don’t know. But we haven’t been as close as we used to be, so… If he thinks we’re dating, then that’s his own dumb fault.”

He tries not to let any self-deprecation enter his voice. Him, dating? Yeah, right. And dating Allison Argent, a girl so out of his league and completely unavailable anyways? Yeah, no, not happening.

If Allison notices anything though, she doesn’t comment on it. She just smiles. “Okay. We’ll stay friends.”

He grins at her and does a mini fist-pump. “Yes!” She laughs at that.

But once he’s home by himself, he kicks his garbage can across the room and throws his bag against the wall. Then he stands there, looking at the papers and books spilling out of his bag.

“Stiles?!” his dad calls, alarmed. A few seconds later, and his dad appears in the doorway, concerned. “Son, what’s wrong?”

Stiles slowly turns toward him. “Scott and I… had a fight. I think we broke up.” He starts laughing manically. “Like we were boyfriends or something! God, no.” Quieter, he says, “Whatever is the equivalent to your best friend practically giving you the middle finger and you storming out on him.”

His dad sighs and leans on the door frame. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really, no,” Stiles says.

A beat as his dad looks at him. “Stiles, you’ll have to talk about it eventually.  And you’ll have to talk to Scott eventually. You can’t just ignore this and hope it goes away, it doesn’t work like that.”

“I know.” Stiles backs up and collapses on his bed. “Do we have any ice cream? I need to wallow. That’s what you do when you break up with someone. Although I’ve never been with anyone to break up with, except I’ve broken up with my best friend.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “God, this is a terrible analogy.”

“Yeah,” his dad says.

“Which part?” Stiles asks.

His dad hesitates, then says, “There’s chocolate chip in the freezer.”

“And you haven’t eaten it? Awesome!” He rushes down to grab it and his father goes back to his TV.

 

When school resumes, Stiles spends the bulk of his time with Allison. He avoids everyone werewolf, which turns out to be easy, because with Allison and Scott not together and Scott hanging out with the rest of the pack, Stiles is left with Allison. Lydia joins them occasionally, whenever she’s not sitting with the rest of the cool kids, like Danny and the rest of Jackson’s friends. Or Stiles and Allison sit with Lydia’s group, Stiles actually getting a free pass now because he is first line on the lacrosse team.

Stiles has a mercifully werewolf-free end of the semester. In a way, it was surreal to be hanging out with only humans. He kept expecting supernatural shenanigans to pop up and mess everything up.

He got to know both Allison and Lydia a lot more than he ever thought he would. “Dare I say it, but I think I’m starting to understand girls!” he exclaims during one shopping trip. Allison smiles and Lydia laughs and pats him on the head.

But it was too much to ask for those in the know to stay out of the know for long. Lydia starts bailing out on outings one too many times before she gives in and tells Stiles and Allison that she has decided to join Derek’s pack. And after midterms, a mauling on school property that smacks too much of supernaturally oriented sends Stiles to Derek with as much information as he can glean from eavesdropping on his father.

“Just when I think I’m out, they pull me back in,” Stiles grumbles, leaning back against the Camaro as Derek peruses his photocopied intel.

And Derek, the bastard, smirks and pats him on the head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize again if there is any exposition repeated this chapter, especially concerning Stiles and Allison.  
> Also, I don't know why, but I think I (in my personal life) was frustrated/angry while writing this so the Scott/Stiles break-up seems angrier than it should be. I didn't want to post this chapter because of it, but I kinda liked the dinner idea.  
> Also, renovated house-trope FTW!


	8. Work It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison and Lydia take Stiles shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this [post](http://riidus.tumblr.com/post/32959299007/x), especially the top picture (askjhgkjd) and this [reblog](http://thegrumpiestwolf.tumblr.com/post/40415172056). Yup. I went there.  
> Ugly duckling transformation via clothing trope!

“How about this one?”

“Oh my god! Seriously? Are you trying to kill me?”

Allison pinches her lips together and looks at the offending garment. “Not necessarily,” she says. “Besides, it’s blue. I think blue would look good on you.”

Stiles runs his hands through his hair and sighs. “Fine, I’ll try that one too,” he says, and if he’s petulant about it, nobody else has to know but him and Allison.

She adds the shirt to the pile he’s holding in his hands. They’ve only been here for ten minutes, but it seems like he’s going to be trying on everything in the store. He hadn’t minded going shopping with Allison and Lydia this time around because he needed a break from not being able to talk to Scott. He’d felt miserable and frustrated, and Allison always seemed to get him out of that funk. Now, though… now he was just downright grumpy.

Apparently the shopping trip had been made with Stiles in mind.

“You know,” he begins, “I don’t need any more new clothes. I have plenty of clothes at home, even after struggling tirelessly to get the bloodstains out of them. I’ve got perfectly fine clothes.”

“I know,” Allison says, moving to another rack. “But I just want to see something different on you. You’re always wearing plaid or baggy shirts, nothing that shows you off. It’s like you don’t want to stand out.”

“That’s right,” he agrees, smiling, “I don’t.”

She looks at him, an eyebrow arched, and his smile fades. “Yeah, you do.” She looks down at the current rack and starts going through the colours. “Besides, you’re starting to become as monochromatic as Derek.”

His jaw drops. “You’re comparing my clothing choices to Derek’s?”

“Yep.” She grabs a dark purple shirt.

“Oh come on! I’m not gay!” She gives him a pointed look. His righteousness deflates a little. “Okay, maybe a little bit.” She smiles. “How did you know?”

“I observe, Stiles,” she simply says, “much like you do.”

Suddenly a huge pile of clothes are being loaded onto his arms. “‘Kay, this is all I could find that was decent enough,” Lydia says. She stretches her arms, then pulls one of the shirts out, lays it out against him, looking at Allison. “What do you think?”

Allison grins. “Oh, that’s gonna look great!”

Stiles sighs again. “Oh my god…”

Allison picks out the right size for the purple shirt and dumps it onto his pile. His arms are burning from the weight. “Right, I think that should be good for now. Let’s go.” She smiles at him and turns him around. Both she and Lydia lead him to the men’s changing rooms.

“Oh, and I grabbed some pants for you to try on too,” Lydia says as they walk. “Had to guess your size though. You look skinny, but those clothes could be hiding a lot.”

“This is the most humiliating experience of my life,” Stiles informs them, just as he’s pushed into a free change room. The girls grab half the clothes from him before closing the door. He looks at the remaining clothes and sighs.

He starts undressing and putting on the new garments. “Remember, Stiles, you have to show us what they look like on you,” Lydia sing-songs through the door. He cringes, but once he’s got an outfit on, he opens the door and lets them have a look.

They work through the clothes, bit by bit. He tries his best to look petulant and annoyed whenever he shows off the styles, but their ‘ooh’s and ‘ahhh’s are winning him over. Another change of shirt and their jaws drop.

“Wow,” Allison breathes.

“Look at that definition,” Lydia says. She looks him over critically with a half-smile, and something about it makes his stomach flutter. Lydia… was looking at _him_ … like _that_. “Did you join a gym without telling us?”

“No,” he grumbles defensively. He looks down at his arms and torso. He’d done sit-ups and push-ups, but that had been more for being able to fight the supernatural bad guys than anything else. “I’d had some muscle before Scott was turned. No big deal.”

Allison sighs. “Stiles, if you showed off your arms like that, you’d get more female appreciation.”

“Yep,” Lydia agrees. “Proven fact. We may not like being objectified by men, but we definitely love a man with biceps.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “That is so sexist.”

She glares and he slips back inside the change room to look in the mirror, grinning. He had to admit, the shirt had a certain charm. It wasn’t necessarily _him_ , but… he could survive wearing it once or twice. Possibly.

Allison thrusts a pair of jeans at him. “Try these on with that.”

He nods and closes the door. He’s halfway through changing out of his pants when he hears the girls murmur suddenly. He frowns, one leg off, and says, “What’s wrong, guys?”

There’s a pause, before Allison says, “Nothing’s wrong, Stiles.” A beat and she says, “Well, you’re gonna find out in a minute.”

He flings the pants off with finality. Well, if there are no monsters outside of the change room, he could survive with being just in his shorts for awhile. He hears the girls move off a little bit to greet someone. He can’t hear who it is. He stares at himself in the mirror at how the shirt clings and reveals. They’re right. It does look good.

He starts tugging the new jeans on. He’s got them all the way up and is zipping up when he catches sight of himself in the mirror. Wow. He grins and mock-guns at himself with his fingers.

“Hurry up in there, will you?” Allison shouts at him.

“I’m done, I’m done,” he says. He checks himself out again then opens the door.

And sees Derek.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, mortified. He closes the door and hears the girls giggling.

“Hey, Stiles,” Derek says through the door. Teasing, he asks, “Are you gonna come out and show us what you’re trying on?”

_Not really, no_ , Stiles thinks. His heart is racing and his cheeks are flushed. He’s gone from feeling confident about himself to anxious about how he looks in a matter of seconds. He tries not to look at himself as he steels himself to open the door. Why, why, why did _he_ have to be here?

“Stiles! If you stand in front of that mirror a second longer, I will use the pins in my hair to unlock the door and force you out of that changing room,” Lydia warns.

“There’s a deadbolt on this door, not a lock!” he yells back.

“Alright, well then I’ll just get Derek to rip the door off its hinges,” Lydia counters.

He imagines Derek doing exactly that and quickly opens the door. He’s sure he’s flushed even more now, but he bravely looks at each of them in turn. His eyes land on Derek. “Derek,” he greets, bowing emphatically. When he comes out of the bow, he can’t decide what is in Derek’s expression, so he decides to ignore it completely and looks at the two girls. “Well?”

Allison is grinning and nodding. “You’re definitely getting that,” Lydia says.

“You look amazing, Stiles,” Allison agrees. She claps her hands.

His eyes skitter to Derek. Derek is leaning against the wall next to Lydia, arms folded. “Got anything to add, sourwolf?”

Derek looks him over, from top to bottom, slowly. Stiles can feel his heart racing, and he can’t imagine what the girls are seeing as they watch him, but he keeps his eyes glued on Derek. When Derek looks back up at him, he’s got a small smile on his face, with something else thrown in. “You look great.”

Stiles releases the breath he’d been holding and turns to go back to his change room, but… “What are you doing here?”

Derek holds up a handful of shirts. “Need new clothes,” he says. “Mine keep getting torn or bloodied.”

Stiles notices that they’re all dark colours, and grins, turning to Allison. “Maybe you should de-chromatize him.”

Allison looks at the shirts and grins too, but Derek says, “No thank you. I can shop for myself.” Allison doesn’t put up a fight, and neither does Lydia.

“Oh come on! How come he can say ‘no’ but I can’t?!”

Derek, the bastard, leans off the wall, comes to stand a couple inches from him, says, “‘Cause I’m the Alpha,” then grins and pats Stiles on his head before moving into the free change room beside him.

Stiles tries not look at the girls when he ducks back into his room. “Cocktease,” he mutters.

Before he closes the door, Lydia agrees, “Yep.”

“I heard that!” Derek yells.

Safely in his change room, Stiles takes a moment to breathe normally. He tries not to imagine Derek changing shirts. However, it’s hard. Um, well… Stiles resolutely starts pulling his own clothes off, and absolutely does not imagine Derek doing it for him. He’s really got a get a handle on his emotions or else everyone else besides Allison is gonna notice his attraction to Derek.

Derek finishes trying on clothes before Stiles does. He hangs around for a bit, adding in feedback to some of the clothes, before he says goodbye to them all and heads to the cash to pay. Stiles relaxes infinitesimally and leans back against the doorjamb. He looks at Allison, who is looking down, hiding her smile.

“How long have you known?” he asks her.

“Awhile,” she says.

“Have you got a thing for the Alpha?” Lydia asks, smirking at him.

He wants to hide in a hole now. “Apparently,” he says, slinking back into the change room to the sound of giggling.

Once they’ve finished giggling, Lydia says through the door, “Just don’t focus on how hot he is. Focus on him, what makes him _him_.”

“Yeah, thanks Lydia,” he mutters. “I’ll be sure to put that into practice right away.”

“He’s actually quite fascinating,” she continues, as if she hadn’t heard him. She sounds thoughtful. “He’s quite an enigma. Hard and rough on the exterior, but hiding a soft, delicious centre.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles moans. “You guys really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“No,” both of them say, annoyed.

He takes a deep breath and blows it out. He forces himself to concentrate on finishing the fashion show than on Derek’s ‘soft, delicious centre’. _Yeah, thanks Lydia_ , he thinks, _there’s nothing pornographic about that_.

When they finish, Stiles has three new outfits and four extra shirts. He can’t imagine paying for it all, but resigns himself to a huge credit card bill. The girls, however, had already planned on paying for everything, and they split the bill between them.

“I can pay for my own clothing,” Stiles protests, albeit weakly.

Lydia just frowns at him as she’s digging out her wallet after Allison has paid half. Allison smiles at him. “Consider this an extra Christmas present,” she tells him.

“And an early birthday present,” Lydia adds, smiling victoriously as she inserts her card into the chip reader.

Well, he may not have to buy the clothing, but he can certainly carry them out to the car.

When he arrives home, he’s tired out of his mind. His dad follows him upstairs to his bedroom. “How was the shopping trip with the girls?” he asks, looking curiously at all of Stiles’ bags.

“Crazy,” Stiles mutters. He stops inches from his bed, then flops forward onto it, face first, still holding the bags. “Grnnngh.”

His dad pulls a bag from his grasp and looks inside. “Wow,” his dad says. “Did you buy all this? You know you can’t afford—”

“No, dad, don’t worry,” he mutters, before flipping himself onto his back. “The girls paid. Something about an extra Christmas present or an early birthday present.”

His dad frowns at him, but nods. “Okay. Well, I’m glad you’re getting along so well with… women. Enough for them to buy you clothes.” He has his suspicious face on, along with his awkward dad face. “You haven’t been… doing anything… with them, have you?”

“Pfft,” Stiles says. “Yeah, dad, I turned into a Casanova and I’ve been sexing up two of the hottest girls in school. Please. I’d be lucky for a kiss on the cheek from either of them.”

His dad’s frown has increased, but he says, “Don’t sell yourself so short.” He leaves it at that.

The next day, a text from Lydia forces him to wear one of the outfits. She has even picked out which one to wear and everything. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d named which pair of boxers he should wear.

So, feeling enormously awkward, he comes to school wearing tight-fitting jeans and the dark purple shirt with one of his black coats. He garners some attention (mostly from people who know or know of him) as he enters the school, and the looks on some of the girls’ faces… he grins at Lydia as she finds him in the hallway.

“Well done, Stiles,” she congratulates. Because apparently he’s her protégé. She links her arm with his and Stiles feels a huge boost in his confidence as they walk to class together. Danny wolf-whistles and claps his shoulder, grinning. When she gets to class, Allison’s grin is huge and genuine when she sees what he’s wearing. Even Erica has noticed and is sneaking smiles at him.

Of course, that doesn’t mean she’s not gonna corner him in the hallway between classes.

“Nice clothing, Stiles,” she purrs, pushing him back against a row of lockers.

“Nice to see you too, Erica,” he says.

“So, why the change in clothes?” she asks, holding him in place.

“Why do you want to know?” he asks back.

“Just curious,” she says, smiling and baring her teeth. “Curious to know whether this is something about you, or if this is something against Scott. And when I say something against Scott, really I mean if it’s something for Allison.”

He frowns at her. “What?”

She shakes her head. “Don’t play dumb, Stilinski. I’m sure you’ve looked in the mirror today. And from Allison’s smile this morning in class, she knows how you look too. So, that led me to thinking, what if Scott is right? What if you’re trying to get with Allison?”

Now, he’s staring at her dumb-founded. “Are you serious?” he asks, and he’s getting angry. “You think I’ve changed my clothing to steal my best friend’s ex-girlfriend? You—that’s just—”

“Well, he’s not exactly your best friend anymore, now is he?” she purrs, eyes narrowing.

He grits his teeth, then says, “Maybe not on his side. But he’s still my best friend, alright? I wouldn’t do something like that to him.”

She’s leaned in so close, he could push forward and kiss her. But she leans back a little, considering him. She looks like she believes him. She removes her hand and says, “Fine.” She’s about to leave when she turns back to him, a thoughtful look on her face. “By the way, Derek has invited you and Allison to pack dinner this Saturday. He says to wear one of your new outfits, the one with the blue shirt.” She grins as his heartbeat stutters, then saunters off, mission apparently accomplished.


	9. Dream About Changing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Allison go to the pack dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and the kudos!  
> Sorry this is so much later than I usually post. It's been a whirlwind couple of weeks.  
> Here is the continuation from the previous chapter. I hope it's not too OOC. I had some trouble getting back into it.

Stiles picks Allison up from her house since his Jeep holds better against the snow in the mountain. They’re on their way to the Hale house for dinner. He’s wearing the blue shirt under his jacket, like Derek had apparently suggested, and he keeps itching at the collar, uncomfortable with the fact that he was dressing _for_ Derek. If Allison notices his unease when she initially gets into the car, she doesn’t say anything.

But after he begins making small talk, asking her about their assignments and how she’s doing on one of her projects, she frowns at him and asks, “Are you okay? You’re really restless—well, more so than usual.”

He considers telling her the truth, about what Erica had said to him, but he really doesn’t feel like it. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just… I’m sure Scott’s gonna be there.” He winces. He’d actually almost forgotten about that.

She freezes. “Yeah,” she murmurs. They fall into silence.

He parks behind Lydia’s car in the Hale driveway. Scott’s mom’s car is already here, and the Camaro is parked off to the side of the house. Two huge lamp-posts have been added to the driveway, illuminating the front yard, so that Stiles is able to see that more work has been done to the front. It looks like the porch has been redone, as well as the siding.

As they get out of the Jeep, Stiles notices the curtains move in the window of one of the front rooms. Everyone probably already knows that they’re here. They get up onto the porch and the front door opens for them.

“Hey,” Boyd greets. He smiles and opens the door wider for them. “Come on in.”

“Thanks, man,” Stiles says, following Allison in.

“Dinner’s not ready yet,” Boyd tells them as they take off their jackets. “We’re just waiting in the living room, having something to drink. Can I get you guys anything?”

“No thanks,” Stiles says, and Allison says, “A Coke?”

Boyd shows them into the living room where everyone else is gathered. This room has also been completely redone, and the mahogany theme he’d seen in the dining room the last time had continued in here. There were new couches and chairs, and a fire burning steadily in the fireplace. He looks at the fireplace for a little bit, and wonders about the implications of the rebuilding including a fireplace.

They greet everyone and find seats on the long couch beside Erica, who has curled up at one end. Isaac and Scott are sitting on the floor, leaning back against the chairs, in front of the fireplace. Scott merely looks up at them, nodding to them as greeting, before going back to whatever it was he and Isaac were absorbed in. Lydia had taken a place in one of the chairs. When Boyd comes back with a drink for Allison, he sits down between Allison and Erica. For a moment, everything is awkward.

Lydia breaks the silence. She looks him up and down. “So, nice to see you wearing one of the outfits, Stiles,” she says.

Erica perks up at that. “Oh yeah,” she says, leaning forward to see around Boyd and Allison. “That’s the outfit with the blue shirt?”

The others are looking at him expectantly, so he gets up and models himself off, feeling stupid all the while. He’s wearing a short-sleeved, tight-fitting blue shirt with a collar and a dark pair of pants that were only so loose that he didn’t feel constricted walking around.

“Damn, boy,” Erica murmurs. The amount of heat in her eyes is so unexpected that he’s sure his face is the red of a tomato.

“Great choice, huh?” Lydia asks, like she’s proud of herself for thinking of the combo.

“Absolutely,” Erica agrees.

“Okay, sitting down now,” Stiles says. He’s grateful for the warmth of the fireplace since the shirt was short-sleeved, but now he is feeling too hot.

Then he notices Scott staring at him. Stiles raises his eyebrows up at him defiantly. Scott frowns and looks away. He can see Lydia shaking her head, annoyed.

“You know what, I think I’ll go get something to drink,” Stiles announces. He resolutely ignores everyone as he leaves and follows the path he remembers to the dining room and through to the kitchen.

There, he finds both Derek and Peter, working away at the stoves and counters. Derek is bent over in front of the oven, adjusting a pan that is inside. Peter is at the other counter, wearing, funnily enough, an apron. Stiles is about to make a comment about it when Peter turns around to him, eyes narrowing like a hawk, with a smirk on his lips.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” Peter drawls, dusting his hands on his apron. Even with an apron on, he manages to look threatening. And imposing. And creepy. “You look very nice tonight, Stiles. Almost like the belle of the ball.” Stiles resolutely does not look at Derek. He does not. Then Peter’s smirk becomes, if possible, meaner. “Dressing for Allison, are we?”

When he can’t think of anything to say, he gets annoyed. Annoyed is good. He crosses his arms, says, “Don’t objectify me.”

Both men snort and go back to their work. Peter now distracted, Stiles chances a look at Derek, who has stood up and is watching Stiles while he fiddles with a pot on the stove. Stiles gestures to himself, then holds his hands out to say, ‘Well?’ Derek smirks, gives him the thumbs up.

Stiles heads to the fridge, grinning like an idiot. He grabs a bottle of beer for himself (he’s dressed himself for Derek; it’s a special occasion which requires getting just a little bit drunk), and then leans against the counter. “What are we having for dinner?”

Derek goes to answer, but Peter cuts in with, “Ahh-ah, you won’t find out until it’s actually in front of you.”

Stiles frowns. “Considering I’m in the kitchen—”

“Well then, get out,” Peter says.

“He can stay in the kitchen if he wants to,” Derek interjects. He rolls his eyes.

“Well, whatever this mystery dinner is, it smells good,” Stiles says. He doesn’t move though. Derek’s permission is enough to keep him in the room. Peter frowns, but goes back to working. “I have to say, I’ve never really thought of the two of you as being cooks.”

“There’s a lot about this family that you don’t know, Stiles,” Derek says. Then he adds, “Even with your internet searches.”

Stiles freezes at that. He’d been researching about the Hale family, not necessarily about the fire, as a side hobby, but he didn’t think Derek would find that out at all. But Derek doesn’t look angry, so Stiles says, “Well, I guess it’s because the two of you don’t even bother to share these things with us.”

That makes Derek glare at him while Peter snickers. “All in good time, young man,” Peter says, coming up to Stiles and clapping him on the shoulder, “all in good time.”

Stiles shrugs him off. “Don’t touch me.”

Peter is all smirks again as he leaves the room with a platter. Now alone in the room with Derek, Stiles feels nervous. Derek doesn’t say anything as he works and Stiles is content to leave the room silent, brooding about what the hell he was thinking in following Erica’s instructions in dressing for Derek when it seemed like Derek didn’t even notice. He’s thinking about going back into the living room with his drink when Derek moves to work at the section of counter beside him.

“You do look nice tonight, Stiles,” Derek says, voice low, as he deftly mixes ingredients in a bowl.

“Yeah?” Stiles says, heart flipping. He hates himself for getting worked up about this.

When Derek looks over at him with a smile and says, “Yeah,” Stiles has a moment of clarity where he thinks, ‘This must be what girls feel like’.

Suddenly there’s so much tension in the room that he has to break it, test his limits. “Sexy, even?”

Derek’s smile becomes shark-like. “Absolutely.”

Stiles feels heat flood his belly from Derek directing that look towards him. But then Derek goes back to working, smile disappearing, and Stiles feels lost. He shakes his head at himself, takes another swallow of his beer, and tries to calm his heart down.

“So, have you decided?” Derek asks.

“Decided what?” Stiles asks back.

Derek rolls his eyes at him. “This pack. Are you in or are you out?” Then he points at a drawer behind Stiles, says, “Can I—”

Stiles moves to let Derek into the drawer. Derek’s much closer to him now than he was before, with a massive amount of heat radiating off him. But there’s an undercurrent of something else that Stiles can feel from Derek. Something that fizzes and sparks and teases at his skin. It doesn’t leave when Derek moves back and Stiles resumes his spot. He can still feel it, pulling at him.

Truthfully, he hasn’t really thought hard about joining Derek’s pack since the blow-up with Scott. Sure, he’s thought about it here and there, but mostly those thoughts had been pushed aside by other things, like school and Scott and Allison and Lydia. And occasionally by Derek.

It’s been a long enough time for him to decide. And sure, he’s hated Derek in the beginning, this smug, arrogant, beautiful bastard who suddenly insinuated himself into Stiles’ life when Scott got bitten and demanded respect from them while going about everything wrong.

But Stiles has no pack, not even a fake-pack with Scott and Allison, now that Scott has joined Derek’s pack. And the run-in with the Alpha pack had left him with the bad after-taste in his mouth that told him that being puny and human and _in the know_ wasn’t good for his health. He needed a pack now. He needed them more than they needed him.

When he pulls out of his thoughts, he finds Derek has finished whatever he was doing and is watching him. Stiles meets his stare evenly and says, “I’m in.” Derek smiles, and he doesn’t miss the hint of victory in that smile. He hears a couple whoops from the living room and raises his eyebrows. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Derek hands him a salad bowl and says, “It’s a very big deal. Welcome to the pack, Stiles.” He smirks. “Now go put this on the table in the dining room.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at him and moves to do as he’s told. He notices that Derek is grinning as he goes back to work as he’s leaving the kitchen. He sighs and puts the bowl on the dining room table next to the platter Peter had set there earlier and goes around the table to what he’s going to assume is gonna be _his_ spot now (the same one as before) and just barely gets his bottle of beer on the table when the dining room door swings inward violently and Erica and Isaac pour in, big grins on their faces.

Erica literally pounces on him, hugging him tight. “Oh my god, Stiles! You’ve joined us!”

Stiles can’t help grinning as he gets squished by Erica. “Yeah, I know, huh?” He feels Isaac crowd into the hug too.

“We’re been so worried about you,” Erica admits, patting his hair.

He tries to pull back to look at her, but she’s too tightly wound around him and Isaac isn’t leaving any room for movement anyways. “Why?” he asks.

But he doesn’t get an answer. Isaac congratulates him and then the swinging door slams into the wall again and Boyd and Lydia pour in, Scott following behind. Erica and Isaac let go of Stiles in time for Boyd to get a good hug in, then Lydia comes next. He’s thankful for Lydia’s hug. She doesn’t mind _not_ crushing the living daylights out of him. Peter’s in the kitchen doorway, smiling fondly at them all. He looks around for Allison but doesn’t see her at all.

When Lydia lets go of him, Stiles almost expects Scott to pounce on him too. And from the faces of everyone else, they expected it too. But Scott merely moves closer and says, “I’m glad you’ve joined us,” but almost like he isn’t glad at all. And isn’t that a kick in the balls?

The joy he’d been feeling, surrounded by his new pack-mates and feeling like he really belonged somewhere, dissipates. He feels lost again, but for an entirely different reason. He contemplates saying something horrible to Scott, starting up another fight, _something_ , just to get rid of this feeling in his chest, when Derek says from the kitchen doorway, “Dinnertime.”

Everyone starts moving to their places, Scott avoiding him entirely. Lydia squeezes his arm as she moves to pass him. He sits down as Derek and Peter set platters onto the dining table and Allison follows out of the kitchen behind them, holding a small platter herself. She sets it down on the table and takes her seat beside Stiles.

“Congratulations,” she tells him, but her smile is muted, sad, and Stiles can’t help feeling like he’s lost another friend.


	10. This is How it Feels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized after I posted the last chapter that I'd forgotten I was taking Erica's character in a different direction related to Stiles and now she's suddenly all BFF with him. Oops, sorry ;)
> 
> And now I've given you angst... oh god the angst

Allison gets a ride home from the dinner with Lydia. Stiles should have expected that. She may have been sitting beside him throughout the whole dinner, but he may as well have not been there for all the attention she paid him. He kind of feels like a knife has been stuck into his throat, and that she was the one who put it there.

He gets another hug from Erica, though, before he leaves. Derek and Erica walk him to his car and Erica holds him tight. He can’t help but look at Derek while she’s hugging him and notice the small, contented smile on Derek’s lips. And he can’t help but feel like all he wants is Derek’s arms around him, not Erica’s.

But we don’t always get what we want.

He drives home feeling elated and disappointed at the same time. His entire world is shifting way too fast, and he’s not sure if he’s comfortable with it. He’s lost his best friend to some petty fight over Allison, and now Allison isn’t even talking to him, now that’s he’s joined Derek’s pack. He feels like Derek may want him as much as he wants Derek, and he’s never been too comfortable with his feelings for Derek anyways to even know what to do with that. And now he’s part of the pack, and they’re happy that he’s joined them, not disappointed or annoyed. They’re happy.

When he gets home, his dad asks about his dinner but lets him go up to his room without commenting on his turmoil of emotions. He knows his dad has noticed how off he is, but for once he’s glad his dad doesn’t ask about it because he doesn’t even know where to begin.

He flops onto his bed, face first. He considers texting Allison, asking her what’s wrong. Instead he texts, ‘We still on for project Monday?’ They were going to use their free first period to work on their project for biology, but now he feels like that’s not even going to happen. And when she doesn’t respond…

He nearly throws his phone against the wall.

Needless to say, he doesn’t get a very good sleep that night.

 

“Stiles,” a voice says. At first, he thinks it’s female, but he’s not sure. He groans, annoyed, but keeps on sleeping.

“Stiles,” the voice says again. He continues to ignore it. There’s some mumbling.

Then, “Stiles! Wake up!” his father shouts, and proceeds to spray him with cold water.

Stiles jerks awake, shielding his face from the freezing water. “Argh! What the hell, Dad?! Are you trying to kill me? Jesus—”

Then his dad says, “Works every time,” smiling at someone to his left, and Stiles looks over and there’s Allison.

She grins at his dad and says, “Thanks,” and his dad leaves the room, winking at Stiles behind her back.

He realizes that he’s just woken up, he’s half-hard and in his pyjamas (well, minus the shirt), he’s knocked his sheets off him, and Allison, a girl, is in the room. “Christ!” he mutters, pulling the sheets to cover himself up. He wipes at his face groggily. “What are you—what time is it?”

“11:30,” Allison says. She’s smirking at him. “Nice pyjamas. Smurfs.”

Yep, she’s seen his hard-on. Mortification complete, Stiles falls back onto his pillow and pulls the sheets to cover him entirely. “Oh God, Allison. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to apologize,” she replies.

He frowns. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He feels the lower part of the bed dip under her weight and he pulls the sheets off to see her folding her legs together. “I was kinda mean last night, wasn’t I?”

Stiles would prefer to be eye-level with her for this conversation so he sits up. “Yep, you definitely were. You gave Lydia a run for her money. Hell, you gave Scott a run for his money with the cold shoulder.”

She winces and looks down at her hands. “Well, I’m sorry.”

He sighs. It seems that she’s learned the puppy-dog routine from Scott a little too well. “Is this because I joined Derek’s pack? You angry about that?”

She looks up at him, and nods.

“Why though? I just—with everything that’s been going on, supernatural-wise, I would’ve thought that my joining wouldn’t have been—well, that it would’ve been a given.”

She nods again. “Yeah, I did kinda expect you to join.” She smiles at him knowingly. “Especially since you’ve got the hots for Derek.”

“Oh my god! Allison!” She grins and laughs as he unsuccessfully tries to pull a pillow out to throw at her. He gives up. “Argh.”

Her smile fades slowly. Then she asks, “Do you understand why I’d be angry that you’ve joined?”

He stares at her, at the slump in her shoulders, the frown lines around her mouth and eyes, and the way her hands are fiddling with nothing important. Oh. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

She nods. “I did ask my dad. I made sure to tell him about all the benefits of me being part of the pack, and no, I don’t mean the benefits to him as a hunter. I tried to show him that I’d be safe, I’d be with friends. But he said no. He said I was stupid for trusting my safety with werewolves, that they’ll all let me down, that no hunter should be part of a werewolf pack. Then he said that if he ever found out that I’d officially joined Derek’s pack, that he’d send me to a private school on the other side of the country.” She looks up at him again, her eyes wide. “A private school! On the other side of the country.”

“Brutal,” Stiles mutters.

“Yeah, you can say that,” she grumbles. “And now Scott’s joined. So has Lydia. And now you.”

Stiles struggles for something to say, something that would make her feel better. “But at least you’ll be pack-adjacent. Even if not officially, you can probably still come to dinners and, I don’t know, pack meetings? You’ll still be included in that.”

“But I’ll always be told things last,” she counters. “Derek won’t call me at all, he’ll call you, and then you’ll call me. It’s not the same.” She sighs and gets up. She goes to look out the window, arms folded. For a moment, neither of them speak. Then, “It’s been so hard moving from place to place, switching from school to school. Never really getting to know people or fit into their lives like real friends do. Sometimes I barely make any friends before we’re moving again. I think this is going to be the longest time I’ve ever been in one spot, and—”

She stops speaking. Stiles gets up, not caring that he’s in his pyjama bottoms and she’s seen his morning wood, and crosses over the room to take her into his arms and hug her. At first, she tenses, but he doesn’t let go, and slowly, ever so slowly, she moves her arms around his waist and hugs him back.

“Sorry I was such a bitch,” she says to him, her chin on his bare shoulder.

“Totally forgotten,” he tells her.  He gives her one last squeeze before pulling back and looking at her and her half-smile. “You wanna hang out today? Work on our project maybe?”

“I can’t,” she says. “The reason I forced you out of bed so early in the day is because Dad has some training exercises lined up for me. Then we’ve got a family dinner. But if you want, we can use our free period to work on our project tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Stiles says. He sits down heavily on his bed.

“Thanks,” she says, gathering up her coat. “And again, sorry.” She sighs and goes to the door, but pauses. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, definitely,” he replies, smiling.

She smiles back. “Now go back to sleep.”

He grins at her and plops back onto the bed. She laughs as she leaves, closing his bedroom door behind her.

He does get back underneath his sheets to go back to sleep, and this time, he sleeps a bit better.


	11. Oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the Stilinskis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this chapter unedited because I should REALLY go to bed, lol. I might upload an edited version once I have a chance to have a go at it.
> 
> Trigger warning: implied/past self-harm. See end notes for more.
> 
> Inspired by this tag, [why can't something good happen to Derek](http://thegrumpiestwolf.tumblr.com/tagged/why-can't-something-good-happen-to-Derek), and slapped in the face by [this post](http://hoechlion.tumblr.com/post/29894786996/three-times-that-derek-projects-look-around).
> 
> Lots and lots of pain. I'm really sorry.

There was a time when Derek was so completely alone.

His sister died. His uncle went insane, and he had to rip his throat out. His family had long ago burned alive.

He’s spent almost ten years wandering across the country, from sea to sea, looking for a home. Looking for a family. For his family. Because the only family he had was busy working two jobs, looking for a pack that would take in a wandering Alpha (practically an omega) and her brother, worrying about his mental health more than about him as her brother.

In New York, the dust behind their heels settled. A little bit, not much. His sister allowed him access to the insurance money to go to school, and he spent the better part of four years losing himself in a city that never sleeps, in a student body that never noticed, in classes that never really made sense. He didn’t know what he was doing there.

He spent all that time pulling further and further away from Laura, drowning himself in course work and drinking an entire liquor store just to feel a little bit of a buzz. He roamed the city until he knew every back alley and every dark park like the back of his hand.

And just when he thought he had a hold on things, that he knew where he was going to go, his certainty was ripped from him in one swift movement.

His sister dies. And he’s back in the same town he no longer feels is his home, back to feeling like everything is his fault –really, ‘cause it is—and he has no foothold in his world ‘cause it’s all been destroyed. Again. And he has to kill uncle, he HAS to. His uncle has no right to run around carrying the Hale family name while slaughtering countless humans for his vicious vendetta.

‘Cause he knows that his uncle would have to kill him too. It’s all his fault.

It doesn’t matter that two sixteen-year-old boys think they can make a difference. They have no idea what the world is like, what monsters are like, what monsters can do to _them_. And now they’ve abandoned him too.

He turns a few teens from their school. He counts on the one to die (he was a dick anyway) and counts on the other three to step up, support him, keep the pack strong. And then they’re gone too. They try to leave him for a better Alpha. Someone who knows what they’re doing.

And he’s alone.

 

Stiles shows up in the late afternoon. The autumn sun is turning the leaves on fire and the Hale house looks even more desolate and empty. Stiles doesn’t even know if Derek is here or not; the Camaro is seemingly missing from the driveway. He’s already tried the warehouse where Isaac had informed him that Derek wasn’t there and he didn’t know of any other place that Derek would hide out. He hadn’t received any response to his few (several) ‘where r u?’ texts, so he’s gonna assume that Derek is here.

He’s getting out of the Jeep and suddenly Derek is right there, close enough that Stiles nearly swipes him with a flailing limb in his panic.

“Holy God!” Stiles shouts. “Stop doing that.”

Derek’s lip twitches. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles slams the door to his Jeep and says, “Well, hello to you too, grumpy. Nice day, don’t you think? Bit cold for my taste but I’ve got lots of layers, now how about you?”

“I don’t care about the weather, Stiles,” Derek grumbles. “I want to know what you are doing here.”

Stiles frowns at him, crosses his arms. Derek glares, mouth forming that thin line of doom. That line that indicates that Stiles is going to be pushed into something very soon, or possibly the newest variation, which is getting slapped on the head with the grumble of ‘Idiot’.

Then Derek breathes a put-upon sigh and says, “Hello, Stiles.”

“Thank you!” Stiles throws his arms up in the air. “Honestly, it wouldn’t—okay, that’s not the point. I’ve noticed you’ve been creeping to your uber creepy lair more and more often lately like a dog punishing itself for peeing on the carpet—”

“Jesus Christ, I’m not a dog, Stiles!”

“Nuance. You haven’t been hanging out with Isaac much lately because Isaac has been increasingly over at Scott’s house—frequently while I’m there, you should know; I mean, this human right here is breakable!—and Erica has had to spend an increasing amount of time at her parents’—she’s been complaining about it to me, which is weird, and TMI—and Boyd has been even grumpier than you are. Since I’m only ‘pack-adjacent’,” he uses air-quotes and Derek nearly scoffs, “hey, your term, not mine—I feel it’s my duty to complain to you that all your betas are complaining to me which is rude and unfair. So how about you get yourself out of that goddamned house and spend some time with your kids!”

Stiles takes a deep breath, because that was a lot of words for him to say. He hadn’t prepared a speech, per se; more like he had memorized all the points he needed to say and let the words take themselves where they needed to go. On hindsight though he probably should have omitted calling the betas ‘kids’.

Derek has only raised an eyebrow at him. Possibly an eyebrow of certain doom, but Stiles can’t tell because his heart is beating too fast, making him feel like he needs to run away, so he’s not really looking at the details.

Then Derek is turning around, heading back to the house. Stiles throws his arms up again. “Seriously? Come on!” He jogs after Derek. “You just gonna pretend we’re not gonna have this conversation? That you’re not shutting yourself in your family’s burned house as some sort of masochistic attempt at making yourself feel better?”

“Go home, Stiles!”

“Derek, come on. You need to stop doing this self-harm thing you do to yourself. It’s not gonna make you a better Alpha—”

Derek turns on him so suddenly, fangs out, eyes red, that Stiles jumps back instinctively, heart rate jacking up like he’s on steroids. Derek, fanged-out and angry, advances on him, backing him up several steps. Then Derek stops moving forward, but Stiles keeps moving back for no reason.

Seemingly satisfied, Derek turns back around and continues back to the house as if he hadn’t just partially wolfed-out. Once Stiles realizes Derek faked him out, he tries to get his breathing back under control and starts after him again.

“You know, that wolfy thing isn’t gonna work on me anymore! You’ve done that to me _way_ too many times for me to think you’re actually gonna follow through.”

He’s followed Derek up the steps and through the front door before Derek swings back around on him. “Jesus, do you have an inch of self-preservation at all?”

“Yeah, probably not,” Stiles says immediately, grinning.

Derek shakes his head, sighing. “Give me strength,” he mutters. He circles the foyer once before stopping in front of Stiles again. “What do you want?”

Stiles scoffs. “Dude, I’ve already told you—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Derek waves it off, “but I mean, why are you _here_ to tell me? You could’ve just yelled at me over the phone, you didn’t have to come here personally.”

“You didn’t even answer my texts! What on earth would make me think you’d answer my phone calls?!” Stiles gestures wildly.

Derek leans his head back with a huff. When he tips it back forward, he’s using the expression of ultimate seriousness that will lead to danger if not taken seriously. “Next time, don’t bother, Stiles. I’m perfectly capable of handling myself, thanks.”

Stiles tries not to, but he can’t help snorting. And now he’s got an image of Derek ‘handling himself’ seared into his brain, so the ‘danger, alert!’ face Derek is giving him isn’t really working. And Derek is now getting pissed off, so Stiles tries to calm himself down. “Sorry, just—you were so serious while you said _that_ —”

Derek has heard enough. “Get out, Stiles.” He turns away and heads down a hall to the back of the house.

In between guffaws, Stiles watches him go. He has no intention of leaving the house just yet. He’s only achieved just half of his plan and he wasn’t going to back out now just because the big bad alpha werewolf said so.

When he achieves some semblance of calm, he walks right on down the hall Derek had gone down. Derek had disappeared into a room, but when he hears Stiles coming towards him rather than away from him, he comes back out into the hall, angry, fanged-out again, starts to yell, “Stiles—” and heads to ward Stiles off.

Stiles doesn’t even know where his idea comes from, but when Derek’s within touching distance, he bops him on the nose, which makes the alpha pause, and then ducks down and around Derek’s outstretched arms and enters the room Derek’s just come from.

At first, Derek starts, “Stiles, did you just _fucking_ TAP ME ON THE NOSE?” Then panic seeps into his voice, “Stiles, wait!”

Stiles doesn’t know what to take in first. The ratty couch pushed against a wall covered with towels that are stained brown in spots. Broken shards of glass in one corner of the room and pieces stuck in a wall. Cases of hard liquor piled beside the couch and empty bottles in cases stacked against a wall. There was a bottle open and partially drunk on the floor. And that was the brutal stuff, the kind Stiles only touched once in awhile when he wanted to get really hammered. Then there are the cooking knives, some on the couch some on the floor, with questionable stains on them.

His mouth goes dry. Panic starts to build in his chest and throat. His first thought (and yeah, Derek would never forgive him for it) was that Derek had murdered someone here. But there wasn’t any blood. Or… Stiles looks at the towels on the couch again. Or…

When he turns around to look at Derek, the older man is completely closed off. Shut down. Knock on his head and nobody’s home. He’s leaning against the doorframe, head down, not looking at Stiles. And Stiles has a moment to wonder at the complete change. This is not the man he fights with on a regular basis. This is not the man who leads a group of mutant teenagers, who _has_ led them against a pack of Alphas.

And Stiles is pulling at Derek’s arms without really thinking about it, pushing up his sweater sleeves, examining the skin there. But of course the fucker would heal his cuts. The skin looks clean. Pure.

His mouth makes the jump before he even thinks about it, “It’s nearing the anniversary of their deaths, isn’t it?”

Derek doesn’t respond. A few beats where neither says a word, then Derek pulls his arms out of Stiles’ grip and moving around him to sit on the couch. Stiles doesn’t turn around. He hears the scrape of the bottle as Derek picks it up from the ground. The crackling groaning of the couch as Derek moves.

Stiles leaves. He walks out of that room, heart hammering in his chest, brain buzzing with thoughts. He makes it to the front door, then stops. The afternoon sun hits his Jeep, makes the windshield shine. The driveway is muddy and the front yard is unkempt. And Derek Hale is sitting in a back room, all alone, drinking his brains out, cutting himself.

Stiles goes back in and grabs Derek’s arm. “Come on, you’re coming with me.”

“Stiles!” Derek barks, a warning, but he doesn’t really do anything. He lets himself get hauled up, the drink plucked out of his hand, then Stiles is grabbing Derek’s jacket, and pulling Derek out of the house. He’s amazed Derek is letting him do it, but he’ll think about that later.

Stiles lets go of him beside the passenger door. “Get in,” he orders, then goes around to the other side. As he levers himself in, Derek is inside, shutting his door with force. He’s staring straight ahead, glaring at the forest presumably. Stiles doesn’t think about it too much as he starts the car and heads away from the Hale house.

Halfway home, he makes a call. “Hey, Dad!” Stiles listens as his father talks. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m bringing Derek Hale home for dinner.”

His father is completely silent on the other end of the line. “O-kay,” his dad says. “And why exactly are you inviting a former suspect in a murder to our house?”

“It doesn’t matter, dad, I’ve already made my decision.” His dad is silent again. “Look, you said I could invite my friends over for dinner anytime I wanted, right? Derek is my friend, and I am using that invitation to invite him, okay? We’ll have dinner ready for you when you get home.”

“Alright,” his father says. There’s so little emotion there that Stiles nearly questions his dad, but then his dad says, “I’ll see you later, kid.”

They’re five minutes from his house when Derek finally speaks. “You don’t have to do this, Stiles. I’m okay.”

Stiles frowns, glancing at Derek. Derek is still looking straight ahead through the windshield. “I think that’s debatable, Derek.” Derek finally looks at him, and Stiles is amazed at how young and small he looks. It’s odd, seeing this on Derek, so Stiles quirks his mouth and says, “I think you can survive one night with the Stilinski family. And, as you have seen, I will not take no for an answer.”

Derek doesn’t smile, but he seems to relax a little, which makes Stiles relax a lot.

When they get to the house, Stiles ushers Derek into the kitchen while he goes up to his bedroom to switch his jeans for pyjama bottoms. When he gets back downstairs, Derek has seated himself at the kitchen table and gives an unamused sniff at Stiles’ pyjamas as Stiles walks by. Stiles ignores it, because hey, he’s comfy.

“You have any preference for dinner?” Stiles asks.

“No, I eat pretty much anything,” Derek says, grinning, baring all his nice white teeth.

Stiles’ heart does not skip a beat in fear, it absolutely does not. “Great,” he mutters, pulling out all the basics for a home-cooked meal. It’s something he hasn’t really done in awhile, what with being busy with school and pack and werewolves, but he figures it’s preferable to put a microwaveable dinner in and staring at each other for fifteen minutes before his dad gets home.

He eventually gets Derek to get up and help him and finds that Derek is surprisingly adept in the kitchen. He works faster than Stiles does, and pretty much takes over the cooking, so that Stiles is being given instructions of what to do next.

Derek tenses suddenly, and Stiles hears his dad’s car door slam. They stop talking altogether and wait for his dad to get in. “I’m home!” his dad yells from the vestibule.

“Yeah, I figured!” Stiles yells back. “We’re in the kitchen.”

A moment later, his dad appears, still in uniform. He takes in the two of them preparing supper as Derek cleans his hands and goes forward to shake hands with his father.

“Sheriff,” Derek greets. “Good to see you again, especially under better circumstances.”

Stiles waits for his dad to raise an eyebrow and shake Derek’s hand warily, like it was going to explode, but his father is downright pleasant, welcoming even. Seriously, what the…

“Derek, good to see you too. You can call me John. What are you guys cooking?”

Derek gives him a rundown on the meal while Stiles looks between them, confused. Derek has transformed back into the confident man he’s known for awhile, and his father is acting like he wasn’t the one to arrest Derek over a year ago or the one to react badly to Derek being in Stiles’ room for research. It’s a little unsettling.

But all in all, they have a good dinner and the food is fantastic. The conversation is stilted, but everyone is making the best of it.

When Derek excuses himself to use the bathroom after they’ve finished eating, Stiles wants to ask his father what’s up, but he knows Derek will hear everything they say. But his father beats him to it.

“Stiles, I want you to know that I’m not entirely comfortable with you being friends with an older, troubled kid,” his dad begins, “but I understand why you are. And I’m glad you are who you are. I may not always show it, but I want you to know…”

Stiles’ jaw has dropped. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, the one that says ‘Sorry, we were just fucking with you’ or ‘I’m kidding, Stiles, you’re actually a pain in the ass to raise’. But it doesn’t come. His father gets up with his plate and pats Stiles’ head gently, fondly, as he passes.

“You’ve got a soft spot for the strays,” his dad continues, putting his plate into the sink, “just like your mom.” He smiles softly. “First Scott, then Isaac… Allison.”

“Derek’s hardly a stray, Dad,” Stiles says. He cringes inwardly at knowing that Derek is hearing everything they’re saying. Well, maybe Derek has aptly learned to tune them out. No, probably not. “He’s got a life here—”

“No,” his dad says, almost sadly. “He doesn’t.”

He doesn’t know why that shocks him. He’s seen Derek so much, but always with his pack, or with Scott. Derek is constantly busy. He’s never really thought about Derek outside of the pack and in the community. He hadn’t really cared.

His dad is looking at him strangely, as if he’s sussing out what Stiles has taken from that. Stiles gets up and takes his plate to the sink too and tries to school his face. His dad gets the rest of the dishes from the table and Stiles is filling up the sink with dishwater when Derek comes back. Stiles looks at him closely to see any hint of whether Derek had heard any part of that conversation, but there’s nothing.

“Hey, sit down, relax,” Derek says to them. “I can do the dishes.”

“No, son, that’s—” his dad begins.

“I insist,” Derek interrupts, albeit politely.

His dad tips his head to him and goes to the fridge to get a beer. He offers one to Derek, who takes it to the sink with him. He pushes Stiles away from the sink gently, then asks, “Dish towel?”

Stiles finds one from the kitchen drawers and hands it to him. Derek smirks and hands it back to him. Stiles scowls but takes his place at the dish rack. The three of them make small talk, mostly about the town, and Stiles does notice Derek’s lack of responses to those questions. From Derek’s face, he’s noticed it too, which means he has heard the conversation. Stiles tries not to cringe inwardly again.

Derek joins his dad in front of the TV for a beer and a football game while Stiles focuses on both the TV and his homework. He’s taken his laptop downstairs. There’s no way he’s letting Derek out of his sight to let him slink back to his burned out family home.

It’s late when Derek makes to stand up to leave. “It’s getting late,” he says. “I should get going.”

Stiles is ready to jump up and tell him to sleep over, but his dad beats him to it with a logical reason. “You’ve had a few beers, son. I’m not letting you drive home.”

“Stiles drove me,” Derek counters. “He can drive me back.”

Stiles doesn’t miss the eyebrow his dad raises at him, but says, “Stiles should be in bed right now, since he’s got school early in the morning.”

“I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I’m twelve, Dad,” Stiles mutters. “I’d be perfectly capable of driving right now.”

“Except I didn’t miss you stealing a few sips of Derek’s beers, Stiles,” his dad counters. Oh, that’s right, he totally had. His dad turns back to Derek. “I insist you stay the night, Derek. We’ve got a guest bedroom and the bed has clean sheets,” he looks pointedly at Stiles, who sighs, “and we’ve probably got some night jammies that will fit you.”

Derek doesn’t look like he wants to say yes, but he looks at Stiles. “You’re more than welcome,” Stiles adds in, for good measure. And he means it.

Derek nods, so when Stiles has all his homework in his room, he is relegated to changing the sheets in the guest bedroom to clean, fresh ones, while Derek and his dad prepare for bed. When Derek comes in, he’s wearing white and black striped pyjama bottoms that are his father’s, and his hair looks a little wet. Stiles is planted in the middle of the bed, trying his best to get the bed sheet to fit the farthest corner. Suddenly, Derek is there by the bed, holding the mattress up with an amused look while Stiles fits the sheet over. Stiles sits back with a huff.

When he gets off, together they put the top sheet on. Then the comforter, then the pillows. Stiles wants to fall asleep right there, but he turns his exhausted body towards the door. He stops in the doorway and turns. “Thanks, for letting me drag you over here.”

Derek stops, looks up at him from where he’s pulling back the blankets. “Thanks… for bringing me here, for having me stay.”

Stiles nods, trying not to smile. They say goodnight and Stiles goes back to his own room, ever aware of the werewolf sleeping in a bed just next door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has probably been a long time in the making, and went in a completely different direction. I was aiming for 'Stiles engineers a plot to give Derek lots of happy feelings' (not sexually, get your minds out of the gutter, lol) and suddenly there was angst and pain and a family dinner with the Stilinskis. 
> 
> I'm kinda proud of it, but also a little unsure, because I had to add the tag 'tw: implied/past self-harm' and I can't decide at this late hour whether it was in character. And I hope I have not offended anyone with this direction.


	12. Fear Is Like Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek finally realizes he needs to rebuild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, same trigger warning: self-harm. Also, grief and mourning.
> 
> This one just kept getting longer and longer. So I split it into two chapters. Again, I am playing with the trope of nothing good happening to Derek.

When Derek wakes up the next morning, Stiles is snoring in the next room and the sheriff is down in the kitchen, making breakfast. A lovely smell filters under the crack in his door, bringing the aroma of pancakes and bacon. He’s surprised Stiles hasn’t been woken by the smell yet. He checks his watch. It’s just before six in the morning, breakfast having to be early since Stiles has to go to school, but he probably doesn’t need to get up just yet, so Derek quickly uses the bathroom and then heads downstairs.

“Good morning, sir,” Derek says as he enters the kitchen. The sheriff is still in his pyjamas while he works at the stove, and there is already a heap of pancakes made.

“Morning, Derek,” the sheriff greets with a smile. “Grab yourself some pancakes and take a seat. Sleep well?”

“Yep. Better than I have for a long time.” He brings his plate to the kitchen table and sits down so he can face John as he eats.

“That’s good. I’m glad you stayed over then.”

“Again, thank you for having me.”

“It’s no problem,” John says. There’s a glint in his eye that makes him look like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. There’s a thump from upstairs and Derek can hear Stiles grumbling sleepily. “Oh, good. He’s up. I had a feeling I was gonna have to go up there and dump a bucket of cold water on him.”

Derek laughs. He can imagine Stiles’ face after getting soaked with water and it’s too funny. John looks pleased that he’s made Derek laugh, and he grins.

He’s still laughing when Stiles comes down the stairs and enters the kitchen. He does a double-take at Derek but doesn’t say anything, but Derek can tell he’s going to file this away for later.

Stiles makes his way over to the stove with a plate to grab some pancakes. He frowns at the bacon still frying. “What happened to the turkey bacon? That’s not the turkey bacon.”

“It died, Stiles,” John says, annoyed. “Turkey bacon is not bacon.”

“Come on, Dad, we’ve talked about this. You’re not supposed to have this much cholesterol, especially in the morning!”

“If I want real bacon, I will have real bacon,” John counters. He looks pained to be having this conversation. “Besides, it’s only one time, and I’m not gonna be here for lunch so I might as well have it now.” The sheriff smiles at Stiles, as if daring him to persist.

Stiles just shakes his head. Derek can hear him grumbling under his breath as he sits down. He looks over to Derek with exasperation plain on his face. Derek doesn’t say anything.

He hitches a ride with Stiles back to the Hale house. Stiles is moving restlessly, looking like he wants to say everything that Derek doesn’t want to hear about what Stiles has discovered. But he doesn’t say them. Derek takes that as a win.

As Derek is about to get out of the car, Stiles says, “You’re welcome any time.” He looks over and Stiles is chewing on his bottom lip. “I’m sure my dad will be okay with you coming over for dinner every once in awhile.”

“You don’t have to treat me like I’m a china doll, Stiles,” Derek grits out. “I can look after myself.”

Stiles raises his hands in mock surrender. “Geez, fine! I’m just saying… you can stop by more often. If you want to.”

Derek nods. He opens the door and starts to get down, but stops. “Don’t tell anyone about… that.”

Stiles nods. Derek can’t tell if Stiles means it or not. He has pity written all over his face and speech, and that annoys Derek to no end.

Then Stiles asks, “What are you gonna do tonight?”

Tonight being the anniversary of the fire. The anniversary of his loss. Of suddenly being alone in the world and having no else to blame for it but himself.

“I don’t want your pity, Stiles,” he grinds out. He slams the car door for good measure and walks away. He can hear Stiles’ heart beating a little faster, but Stiles leaves him to the house.

He spends the rest of the morning inside the house. He walks from room to room, taking everything in. All the details. The burnt wood; ragged furniture; destroyed bits and pieces of figurines and picture frames and books and pieces of paper. He can still smell them sometimes. His family haunts him in the wood and ash, along with the stench of death. He can smell his baby sister in the ruins of her wardrobe in her bedroom, smell his cousins in their burnt toys in the play room. He can feel his mother’s calming presence in her study, in her books. He can sense his father in his parents’ bedroom, in the filing cabinet he kept for his business papers.

By noon, he’s drunk several bottles of liquor and he’s starting to feel something. So he keeps chugging the liquid down while his eyes stray to the knives on the floor. He thinks the liquor might be enough for him, but the need to punish himself is so strong. Yet he doesn’t want to do it. A face keeps popping up in his head, almost as if the face were right in the room with him, with that look of worry and pity and sadness.

He knows his betas can sense his sorrow, his pain. He knows it hurts them that he’s shut them out. He knows he should be stronger than this, for his pack especially. But he’s sobbing into his pillow, curling into a ball, fisting his hands, willing the world to go away.

It takes awhile… but he thinks, _I want more than this_.

He cleans his face with the water from a rain barrel outside. He can feel the ghosts of his former family holding tight around his throat and it takes a bit of splashing cold water to dispel that feeling. He walks resolutely back into that room and gathers all the empty bottles into cases and without a backward glance heaves the cases out of the house and into the trunk of his car. He’s quickly getting sober.

He’s at the liquor store trading in the empty bottles, feeling almost normal, almost human, when his cell rings. He doesn’t recognize the number on the display, but he takes the call anyway.

“Hello, Derek, this is John here,” the sheriff says on the other end.

Surprised, Derek says, “Hi John. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you’d come down to the station,” John begins. Quickly, he adds, “You’re not under arrest or being questioned for anything criminal. This is just me wanting to have a talk with you.”

Derek wants to say no, feels like he should say yes. He gets what little change back from the empty bottles and declines the clerk’s offer of a brand new case and leaves the store. “Alright, what time?”

“Just get here when you can,” the sheriff says.

They hang up on the promise to meet soon and Derek is about to get into his car when he feels a familiar tug. Not a physical tug, but it prickles at something inside of him, and he looks around to see Erica standing across the street from him. Her hair is wind-blown and her expression is wary and disbelieving. She jogs across the street to him and before he can stop her, throws her arms around him and hugs.

“Hi, Erica,” he says softly, curling his fist in her hair.

“I could feel you all the way from school,” she says, hugging his neck tightly. Derek feels a little odd to be embracing her in the parking lot of the liquor store, but he doesn’t pull away. There’s no one looking. She asks quietly, “Where have you been?”

He doesn’t answer, and she pulls away, looking furious.

“You better tell me, Derek, or I swear to God—” she stops herself and pouts angrily.

“I stayed the night at Stiles’ house,” he says after a pause, purposefully neglecting the few days before that he’d been hiding in his old home.

She relaxes a little and her heart starts beating slower. Her nostrils flare; she leans in close and sniffs him with an eyebrow quirked. “You do smell a little bit like him, actually.”

He pulls out of her arms completely. “Are you doubting my word?” he asks, scowling.

She looks put-out as she stammers, “No, I’m not.” He hears the lie in her heartbeat and turns to get in the car. He’s got the door open when she says, “Aw, Derek, I’m sorry. I’m just—” He stares at her blankly, waiting. She’s biting her lip and keeping a lid on some powerful type of emotion.

“Jesus, Erica, spit it out!”

“Fine!” she yells, back to being angry. “I’m worried about you, okay? You get it? You can’t just cut yourself off from us for days on end—I could _feel_ how much pain you were in and I couldn’t do anything about it! So, you—” she expels a huge breath of air, points a finger at him, “—next time—”

Before he knows it, he’s got her in his arms again. He could not believe how much his heart is swelling with her admission. He feels like it’s going to explode out of his chest. His betas care about him. They worry about him. He couldn’t believe he had that.

He bites his lip, drawing blood, to keep himself from breaking down, and pulls away. Her eyes are bright and shiny. He kisses her on the forehead, which earns him a grimace and a cuff from her.

“I’ve gotta go,” he tells her. “Gotta go see the sheriff.”

“Did you do something?” she asks, wary.

“Not that I know of,” he says honestly, opening his car door again.

“Well… let me know—” she says, voice tilting into a question.

“I will,” he promises. “Get back to class, kid.”

She huffs at the nickname, but nods. She gives him a quick wave and starts back towards the school. He watches her go. He can see she’s got her phone out, no doubt informing his other betas about his re-appearance in town.

The drive to the sheriff’s department is uneventful. The deputy manning the front desk gives no hints about what the sheriff wants him for, either verbally or physically. He shows Derek into the sheriff’s office where the sheriff is currently eating a salad at his desk.

“Stiles would be proud,” Derek says, by way of greeting, remembering their breakfast only that morning.

John is pleased at that, though he doesn’t smile. He cleans his fingers with a napkin and gestures Derek into a chair opposite him. “Thank you for coming.”

“No problem,” Derek says, sitting down stiffly. “What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

The sheriff smells a little uncomfortable. “You’ve been back in town for more than a year. I don’t know if you have any intentions to stay, but… I know your family’s house is important to you.” He pauses, and Derek nods. “There’s been some talk that the county has plans for that land. For buying it, I mean.”

Derek stills.

“Something to do with a modern development scheme. They’re thinking of expanding the town out that way. I don’t know. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway. No doubt they will approach you since you’ve been in town.”

“I thought my parents’ land was already county property,” he says, trying to keep a lid on how furious he is. He could see it, though, the county tearing down his house, _his_ house.

“I made some inquiries about that, because I thought that too,” John says, rifling through some papers on his desk and producing a file. “I think someone in the county land department made sure that people thought they already owned the land, but according to the insurance and your parents’ wills…” he frowns down at a paper, “‘the house and all incumbent on said property shall be passed down to the next living kin’ and there’s a clause saying that even if the next living kin no longer lives on the property, they will own it, unless you were to die and there were no other living Hales, or distant kin to your family, to take ownership of it. Then, and only then, does the property revert back to the county.

“Your sister never tried to sell it, and because your uncle had been comatose, the property did not pass to him, it passed to your sister, and now to you. There’d been talk of the county wanting to argue in court that the two of you were away too long to still hold the property as yours, but nothing was ever finalized, so that land is still in your name.”

He pauses now, looks at Derek. Derek nods, but only because he feels he needs to, to set John at ease. He schools his face to make sure that he isn’t showing the rage he’s feeling at the county trying to claim what wasn’t theirs.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want to lose that house,” John adds, after a silence.

“No, sir,” Derek says neutrally.

“Yet, you’ve been living… god knows where. That house is not fit to live in, which is why the county is so keen to buy the land and re-develop it. If you were to renovate it, stay in Beacon Hills a little longer, I’m sure the county would get the message and forget about their plans.”

His mind is racing. On the one hand, he didn’t want to rebuild a house that his family had spent their last living moments in. He didn’t want to destroy the one link he had to their memories by getting rid of the ash and soot that held their last breaths. And he certainly didn’t want the county to tear down the house to put up a suburban neighbourhood of houses that all looked the same for the sake of the town ‘expanding’.

And yet… he yearned for that pristine white house. He yearned to walk its halls and not worry about a board giving way under his feet. He wanted that house to be brought back to how it was, so that he could remember his family as how they were while they lived in it, not as how they died.

He remembers the conversation Stiles and his dad had had last night. Derek didn’t have a life in Beacon Hills. And here was Stiles’ father, a man who had arrested him on suspicion of murdering his own sister, who was at the forefront of hunting Derek when the boys named him as the murderer of Peter’s revenge rampage, telling him to stay in Beacon Hills, to rebuild his house, to become a member of the town. Did he need any more permission than that?

He can see John is waiting for a response. “Thank you, sir,” he says. “I really appreciate you telling me about this.”

“You’re welcome,” John says. “Now, the other reason I wanted you here… I don’t know if you even have somewhere decent to stay and I know it’s none of my business, but since tonight is the anniversary of the fire, I thought maybe you would like to stay with us again.”

His heart skips a beat. “Oh, sir, you don’t need to—”

“Will you quit calling me ‘sir’?” John rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to feel any older than I already do. And I understand if you would prefer to be alone tonight, but I just thought—I was gonna make a big dinner anyways, and you might like to have some company. Well, I don’t know how long you’ve known my son, but that last statement might not be entirely true. He can be quite a handful.”

Derek gives a surprised bark of laughter. He nods at John’s amusement. “Yes, he really is.”

John smiles. “So, what do you say?”

“Sure, if it’s not too much trouble to you to put up with another person,” he says, feeling warm inside.

John waves that aside. “It’s no trouble at all.”

“May I ask a favour, though?”

John looks intrigued. “Shoot.”

“Please don’t tell anyone about this conversation, especially Stiles. I think I’d like to surprise my friends” (pack) “with the house renovated.”

“So, you are going to renovate the house?” John asks, looking secretly pleased. Derek nods. “Alright. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“Thank you.”

John shoos him out of the office after telling him where the hide-a-key is. He also tells Derek to pack clothes for more than a day’s worth, and when Derek argues, he puts his foot down. Derek agrees to stay for a couple days and leaves the sheriff’s department feeling like he had a father again.

 

He didn’t want to mourn anymore. His brain was stuck on this idea of rebuilding his home, and he felt like he was rebuilding his life as well. All he could think about was what he wanted to do with the house, changes he wanted to make, people he wanted to hire, how much money he’d spend, what the place would look like once it’s all finished and the surprise on his pack’s faces when he brings them to show them his newly rebuilt home.

And it would be their home too. They were his pack. He would make that house stronger and more secure and it would be a safe haven for them, a place they could come to when they needed family. A place to keep them all together.

The first thing he does is visit the warehouse. He finds Peter in one of the train cars, absorbed in a book. His uncle barely looks up at him as he asks, “Have you ever read this? This… this is a great book.”

Derek glances at the title. “No, I haven’t.”

“Well, read it sometime. It’s awesome.” Derek frowns at his uncle, who finally looks up. “What? Am I not allowed to get excited about a book, dear Alpha?”

Derek rolls his eyes. He grabs some clothes and puts them into a duffle bag.

“You going somewhere?” Peter asks, suspiciously.

“To the Stilinskis,” he replies shortly.

There’s a stunned silence. “What about tonight?” Peter asks, his voice blank.

Oh. He’d only ever mourned by himself or with Laura. He never thought about what Peter was going to do. He’d never mourned with Peter before and he didn’t know how he felt about having Peter there to mourn with him. But he was his uncle.

By the time he looks at him, Peter has schooled his face into a careless expression, shrugging his shoulders. “Don’t worry about me, Derek. I think I have mourned our family enough for the both of us during my stay in the long-term care ward. And you have certainly mourned enough with your drinks and your cutting.” Derek freezes, stunned. “I’m just glad you’ve re-announced yourself to your betas and that you’re thinking of doing something else tonight.”

“How did you—”

Peter cuts him off with an unimpressed, “Really? You disappear for days and don’t expect me to look for you? To make sure you’re okay?” He shakes his head. “Sometimes I question whether you use your brain. Just because your betas are too scared to seek you out like this, doesn’t mean _I_ am.” He looks back down at the book. “And apparently Stiles isn’t scared either. You should start thinking about _that_ a bit more.”

Derek knew what he was hinting at, but he wouldn’t give him any ground on it. Instead, he deflects with, “Okay, Mr High-and-Mighty, do you know about what the county is planning to do to our land? Our home?”

The sharp way Peter looks up at him and has tensed is proof that he doesn’t know. Derek sighs, sits himself down, and fills Peter in on what the Sheriff told him and what he is planning to do. Peter has closed his book completely and is fully engaged in the conversation. Peter had never lived in the house full-time, but he could tell that it mattered to Peter too. He bounces ideas off Derek and Derek asks him for his opinions. They were of the same mind, of renovating the house and keeping it a surprise for the pack. They even agreed about certain things.

Derek could see that Peter was now focused on this news and eager to start working. Before he leaves the train car, he asks, “Do you want to start comparing prices for the labour?”

Peter grins. “I’m on it.” He gets up, book wholly forgotten, and shrugs his jacket on. Derek’s glad to have him motivated and focused on something for the good of the pack, rather than for the good of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen a few fics where the county apparently owns the Hale land. I don't know if this is canon, but if it is, I wanted to dispute it.  
> And, as I am not American, I apologize if there is anything wrong with the conclusions I took with by-laws and the sheriff's department. I'm just gonna assume that the sheriff would have access to info on Derek's property and that he genuinely wants to help Derek out.
> 
> And I apologize if Derek's POV is OOC. And if the tense suddenly slips into past rather than present.


	13. Crashing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is in the Stilinski house like it's his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation from the previous chapter. No trig warnings.
> 
> Also, Derek "borrows" Stiles' computer.
> 
> Trope to play with: Derek needs a job. I don't care what Tyler H says about his character; Derek needs a job!

Derek feels weird about using the hide-a-key to let himself into the Stilinski house with a duffle bag over his shoulder. He even looks around at the neighbouring houses to see if there are any old ladies peeking out at him, thinking him a burglar. When he gets in and locks back up, he grabs Stiles’ laptop and plants himself on their living room couch, not even bothering to take off his jacket.

Within an hour, he’s checked his bank account and his funds, started drawing down floor maps of the house, marked out any changes he wants, written a list of things he needs to remember or think about. Peter has checked in with him twice, giving him updates on labour and then on lumber. His funds are too low to sustain such a big project as this, but Peter agrees to use some of his own money for the rebuilding. And now Derek has to think about finding a job.

He never thought he’d be back in Beacon Hills, thinking about finding a job. He’d always imagined still being in New York, maybe not the city but the state, using his degree to find a job in his field. But since his degree isn’t finished, he has to appease himself with looking through the help wanted columns of local newspapers and online.

By the time John gets home, Derek has erased his browsing history from Stiles’ laptop (and made a few discoveries about Stiles’ sexuality and his porn preferences, which he is _not_ going to think about too closely) and has almost finished creating a resume. He’s already trawled through the online job listings thoroughly. He feels partly intrigued at the new challenges in the jobs he’d found, and partly anxious about not having the skills needed for some of them.

But he’s applied for the jobs anyway. At the moment, he’ll take anything. He’d even go so far as to be happy as a barista at the local coffee shop (which he _has_ applied to, by the way).

“So,” John begins, after hanging up his coat and coming into the living room, “have any preferences for dinner?”

“Not at all,” Derek says, putting the laptop on the coffee table in front of him. He gestures to his cup of coffee. “I hope you don’t mind, I needed some—”

John waves it away. “Nonsense, Derek. I didn’t expect you to keep yourself from drinking anything while you were here.” He’s eyeing the laptop with a questioning frown. “How far did you get?”

Derek smiles a little. “My uncle and I are just finalizing the details of what we want to do before we start committing to the plan.”

He’s still looking at the laptop. “Is that a resume?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Derek shrugs. “I need a job. Renovating the house is gonna take a lot of money. My sister and I… well, in New York, we used a lot of the money for our schooling.”

“I understand that,” John says. He looks thoughtful. “Listen, I’m gonna go change and then I’ll start making dinner. Be right back.”

Derek nods, doesn’t know what he should say to that. He pulls the computer back onto his lap and wonders if he needs to plug the computer up to the printer to print off resumes. He finds out that the printer is wireless and presumes it’s up in Stiles’ room, judging by the grumbling noises the printer makes as it wakes up and starts to print.

John comes back downstairs in casual clothing. “You want a beer?” he asks as he heads past.

“Sure, thanks.” John comes back and gives him a beer.

Before he re-enters the kitchen though, John looks over at him and says, “Isn’t it weird that your uncle suddenly woke up, disappeared for several months, then came back?”

Derek shrugs. His uncle had legally checked himself out of the long-term care ward before Derek had had to rip his throat out. And since the only people who’d known that Peter had been dead for a time were his pack and the Argents, it had been a moot point at announcing whether Peter was dead or resurrected. Instead, Peter had decided he would say that he’d wanted to get out of the state for awhile, and that he’d decided to come back and live with his nephew, to be close to family. And all those dead bodies that had piled around Peter when he’d been an insane Alpha remained cold cases, still unsolved.

But, when Melissa McCall had discovered Peter’s real identity when he came over to her house with some of his pack members, let’s say that it was a memory Derek would cherish forever.

So he has no problem saying to John, “He creeps a lot of people out, but he can be a good man when he wants to be. I’ve never pressed him about what happened to him while he was away.” _Because he was dead in the ground of my burnt-out house_.

John mulls that over and turns back into the kitchen. Derek can hear him opening the fridge, the cupboards, turning on the stove. Annoyed at not being able to see what John was doing, he grabbed his beer and Stiles’ laptop and went to sit in the kitchen while John worked.

When Stiles’ comes home, John and Derek have been working in quiet camaderie, with Derek occasionally helping him with the meal. They’ve been getting to know each other, and Derek has been sharing more about himself and his life in New York than he normally would. He doesn’t fully understand his need to impress this man, to make this man understand him, but he doesn’t actually want to look at it too deeply. He’s too comfortable at the dinner table as they both work on their respective tasks.

Stiles yells, “Hey, Dad!” as he practically runs past the doorway to the kitchen without looking in.

“Hey, kid!?” John yells after him.

“Can’t talk! I need to do something!” Stiles yells back, his feet thumping up the stairs.

John sighs and Derek smirks up at him. He can hear the moment Stiles gets into his room and dumps his bag on the floor, followed by an exclamation as he realizes that his computer isn’t there.

“He’s looking for his laptop, isn’t he?” John asks, trying to hide his smile.

Derek’s grinning as he nods. They both laugh. He can hear muttered curses before Stiles flies back out of his room and down the stairs.

“Dad!” he yells, panicking. “Have you seen my laptop? I didn’t bring it to school with me—and why the hell are there pages of resumes in my printer with the name ‘Derek Hale’ on them?”

By then, Stiles is in the kitchen, meters away from Derek, holding said resumes in his hand, so Derek merely reaches over and grabs them. “Thank you, Stiles.”

Stiles jumps. “Holy God!” He puts his hand over his heart as if to stop the rabbiting of his heartbeat and glares at Derek. “Will you stop doing that?”

Derek puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, it’s not my fault you didn’t look this way when you came into the kitchen.”

If possible, Stiles glares even more. Meanwhile, John is watching the two of them, amused. Then Stiles notices. “Hey! That’s my computer! I did not give you permission to use my computer. And it’s password protected and everything.”

“Wasn’t too hard figuring out what the password was,” Derek says, smirking at him. Neither of them mentions what the password is out loud because that would be spilling the beans on werewolves to John. They don’t need to worry about it as John snorts and goes back to cooking. Stiles stands there, his cheeks and ears going red, fuming at Derek. Finally, he huffs and storms out of the kitchen.

“Dinner’s in ten minutes!” John yells out after him.

They have a pretty quiet dinner. John lets Stiles know that Derek will be staying with them for a couple days. Stiles looks surprised, but relieved at the same time. For a moment, Derek can’t help thinking about Peter’s mention of Stiles when they were back in the warehouse, but he doesn’t dwell on it.

Stiles and Derek clean up the kitchen, and only when John retires to the living room to watch the news, does he start asking the questions Derek knows he’s been wanting to ask throughout the entire dinner. When he’s asked everything pertinent, his eyes soften and Derek knows what he’s gonna ask next.

“How are you doing?” Stiles says.

Derek sighs. “Fine.” Stiles gives a huff like he doesn’t believe him and Derek rolls his eyes. “Why does nobody believe me today? I am fine.”

“Okay, okay,” Stiles mutters. “I’m glad you’re here though.” His heart is steady and sure, and Derek is surprised that Stiles really is glad that Derek is currently beside him, drying dishes, and is going to be sleeping in the bedroom next to him.

After a moment, Derek adds quietly, “Me too.”

He doesn’t go to bed that night thinking of the boy in the room next to him who smells too much like restlessness, coffee, and arousal whenever he’s around Derek. And he absolutely does not think of Stiles having a room in Derek’s family home when it’s rebuilt.


	14. Same Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles babysits for the next-door neighbours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kid!fic trope and Stiles as a babysitter trope FTW!
> 
> There are some serious questions about sexual identity here, and a Sterek scene that is almost 'T' rated.
> 
> And sorry for the slight detour from the previous chapters with this. I was all ready to write more scenes with Derek crashing at Stiles' house and getting a job, and then a couple weeks intervened and this happened.  
> Oddly enough, this was spurred on by the latest Doctor Who christmas special.

Sometimes, not often but sometimes, Stiles babysits for the families in the neighbourhood.

Generally, he’s a last resort baby sitter. He’s had plenty of cousins he’s had to watch so he’s gotten quite familiar with keeping kids occupied (which is not hard considering he’s a kid himself), and with how to take care of them, etc. Plus it helps that all of his neighbours know him as the ‘Sheriff’s kid’, a title that brings up visions of respectability and trustworthiness, and Stiles has never felt the need to dissuade his neighbours from that vision of saintliness, so he just goes with it for the sake of being able to slip out of trouble with their help if the need should occur in the future.

I mean, who would believe that Stiles Stilinski would be up to no good? No one!

So Stiles endures these babysitting stints, just for his credibility. He absolutely does not sigh and frown dramatically when his father makes him aware of them. He doesn’t complain about how much time he’s losing to these stints. It also helps that his neighbours tend to pay him double what they would normally pay their regular babysitters, which he is totally up for.

His latest job is for a small family next door. His father calls him after school to let him know the parents have asked for his help, and he contacts them, finds out when he’s expected, how long he’ll be there, and how much he’ll be getting for the job.

When he shows up on their porch the next day, he’s got a bag full of games, with _some_ candy slipped in (unbeknownst to the parents), and a bright smile on his face.

“Hey, Mrs Iannetto,” he greets, grinning, as he takes in the wiggling little girl in her arms. They hear a shout of ‘Stiles!’ from the living room where it sounds like the TV is on.

“Stiles! I am so glad you could come,” Mrs Iannetto says, waving him in. She’s a pretty woman, well-secure in her position as wife and breadwinner, and Stiles has _not_ been having fantasies about her in his spare time (also known as he’s got the hots for her). “Christian is in the living room. I have been trying to get him to work on his homework, but he keeps turning on the TV.” This last part she says louder with a stern note to her voice.

Christian, an eight-year-old boy, comes running out of the living room, full-speed, with a screech of “Stiles!” and slams into Stiles, nearly knocking them both into the hall table.

“Hey, buddy!” Stiles says, grinning, as he fights to keep them both upright, which proves difficult since his foot is close to slipping. Mrs Iannetto scolds Christian, but neither of them are listening, as Christian is rambling on about one of his toys that he got recently and a new friend he met. The little girl in Mrs I’s arms giggles and makes grabby motions at Stiles.

“Here,” Mrs I says, passing Jessica over to Stiles.

“Hey, beauty,” Stiles says, dropping his backpack to gladly take her in his arms. She coos up at him. He struggles to keep his attention on both kids.

When Christian pauses for breath, Mrs I says, “If you don’t mind, I am going to get ready.”

“No, not at all, go ahead,” Stiles says, starting for the living room.

“You know where the food is,” Mrs I calls to him over her shoulder as she runs up the stairs.

Christian looks up at him expectedly. “Go on, man, keep talking,” Stiles tells him. Christian looks relieved. Stiles listens in, asks questions, while simultaneously juggling Jessica in one arm and pulling his backpack over to prepare for the night ahead.

While Mrs I gets ready for her date with her husband, who gets home about half an hour after Stiles arrives, Stiles entertains the kids with a new board game he got. He and Christian spend half an hour challenging each other while Jessica squirms on the floor beside Stiles and tries to grab half his tokens. He keeps having to shoo her away, and she keeps giggling at him.

When the parents leave, Stiles turns off the TV like the dutiful babysitter he is and engineers Christian into working on his homework. Christian doesn’t make a fuss, though he doesn’t look happy, and Stiles is glad. He doesn’t often get to work with a kid who actually follows his orders.

He sets Christian up at the dining room table with his books and puts the radio on for background noise. After changing Jessica, he sets her in a high chair and begins making dinner for the three of them. They’re all working pretty quietly until Christian sighs loudly and puts his pencil down.

Stiles wouldn’t ordinarily have noticed, but he’s facing Jessica at the table and sees the unhappy face Christian has on. “What’s wrong, man?” Stiles asks.

Christian shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. He picks his pencil up, but his hand hovers over his work for long enough that Stiles wonders if his mind has wandered.

“How far have you gotten?” Stiles asks, gently, hoping to pull him out of his reverie and get him thinking about schoolwork.

Christian looks up at him, mouth pulled down into a frown. “I’ve coloured in all the states. Now I have to put the names on.”

“Do you need help with that?” Stiles asks, sautéing the vegetables as he talks. “I know some of the states can be tricky to remember.”

Christian just shrugs. With another sigh, he goes back to work. Stiles waggles his eyebrows at Jessica, who’s busy sticking her fingers in and out of play-doh.

Stiles is working on turning over the chicken nuggets when Christian speaks up again. “Uncle Stiles?” he asks plaintively.

“Yes, Chris?”

“What do you do if you like a boy?” comes the question.

Stiles freezes. He wasn’t prepared for that question, especially out of the mouth of an eight-year-old. He looks over at Christian, who is looking at him solemnly.

“Well… I’m not really sure, Christian,” Stiles begins. This answer seems to make Christian upset, so he hurries on. “Do you like this boy as a friend, or as more than a friend?”

Christian ponders that. “I like him as a friend.” He’s still thinking, his face scrunched up adorably. If there wasn’t a note of sadness in that face, Stiles would feel the urge to coo like a girl at the adorableness of it. “But I think I like him as more than a friend. But Candy said that it was gross. Boys aren’t supposed to like boys. And Mrs Richards saw us kissing and she gave us detention.”

First of all, who the hell names their kid ‘Candy’? Secondly, Stiles was filled with outrage at the nerve of heterosexual teachers who punished kids who were exploring. He was so angry and fighting hard not to show it to either kid, that he almost didn’t notice that the vegetables were finished and hurried to pull the skillet off the burner.

He thought over what he should say to Christian as he finished turning the chicken nuggets and put them back into the oven to cook further. As someone who was still struggling with their bisexuality, he wanted to bolster this kid’s spirit and give him hope and encouragement. And yet, doing so would allow Christian to act further in exploring his sexuality, and considering how religious most of the town was (despite how ‘forward-thinking’ they proclaimed themselves to be), he knew Christian would only get into further trouble and be shamed into hating himself, and he absolutely did not want that.

He checks the time on the nuggets, then went to sit down beside Christian, pulling Jessica’s high-chair a little so that he could see her too. He looks Christian in the eyes. “Does this boy like you back?” he asks softly.

Christian’s lips twist as he thinks. “I think so.”

Stiles nods. “Do you still want to be his friend?”

Christian nods instantly. Before Stiles has a chance to say anything else, Christian asks, “Why is it gross to like a boy? Mrs Richards says it’s because I’m a boy, but I don’t understand that. Are boys not supposed to like each other?”

_Shit shit shit_. He was way out of his league here. If he tells Christian that it was okay to like boys, he could get Christian in trouble and himself by extension. But if he doesn’t and Christian gets shamed into hating himself… Stiles is not sure he could take ruining the future happiness of an eight-year-old child.

“Have you talked to your parents about this?” Stiles asks instead, hoping to stall a little to give him time to think of the best response.

Christian shakes his head, and Stiles feels his heart fall. Whatever he says, his parents are bound to reject it if they think it’s not right for their child. So either Stiles says nothing, or he finds a way to talk to Christian’s parents.

Stiles puts a hand on Christian’s shoulder. “Listen, buddy, I personally am all for boys liking boys. If you think you like this boy, then you should be allowed to like this boy. But I don’t think I’m the best person to ask. Talk to your mom and dad. See what they say. They’ll support you.”

“But is it gross?” Christian persists.

Stiles hesitates. “It’s only gross to those people who see it that way,” he says carefully. And while that answer will be obscure as hell to this kid, it’s the best answer he can give.

He makes Christian promise to ask his parents about it and to explain to them why he likes this boy and what he should do about it. He’s hoping that if the kid appeals to them, then they’ll see his sexuality as a good thing. But it bugs him all through supper and clean-up. And while Stiles tucks Christian in at bed time, he feels distracted to the point he almost knocks the bedside lamp over, to which Christian gives him very wide eyes. It’s his favourite Spiderman lamp.

Jessica sleeps in her bassinet in the living room while Stiles sits at the dining room table, trying to work on his own homework. He jiggles his legs incessantly, as if to will himself to concentrate on the work in front of him. He clicks his pen, flicks it back and forth, rolls it between his hands. He opens and closes his books. Switches subjects. Changes notebooks. But he can’t see his work. All he can see is a little boy who likes another boy getting punished for it.

His phone beeps with a text. It pulls him out of his thoughts enough that he pulls up the text. It’s Derek. ‘Stiles, I’m in ur bedroom. Where the hell r u? Need to talk.’

‘Next door, babysitting. Knock please, no doorbell.’ Text sent, he gets up from the table and goes into a room on the side of the house closest to his bedroom in time to see a dark shape leap down from his window. He rolls his eyes.

Derek doesn’t bother knocking. Stiles supposes he can hear Stiles moving to the front door, so when Stiles gets the door open, it’s no surprise to see Derek waiting patiently.

“Since when do you babysit?” Derek asks, quietly.

“I’ve been doing it off and on for the past several years,” Stiles replies, also quiet. He waggles his eyebrows. “You don’t know everything about me, sourwolf.”

Derek only rolls his eyes at that. Stiles realizes that they’re beginning to mimic each other and he tamps down the urge to find that cute. “Are you going to invite me in?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, seriously. “I’m not sure how I feel about letting a werewolf into a house with two children who don’t know him.”

Derek sighs and rolls his eyes heavenward. “Just let me in, Stiles, before I relinquish myself to the need to slam you against this door.”

Stiles feels his heart quicken, and not from fear either. He hesitates, before stepping aside and gesturing Derek in. He’s barely closed the door before he flings his arms around Derek’s neck and hauls him in.

The kiss is sloppy, forced, not what he expected. But he has thoughts pinging around his brain, mostly from the talk he’s had with Christian, and  _damn_ , he’s really wanted to do this.

Derek eventually relaxes in Stiles’ arms, and the kiss becomes dirtier, slower, more heated. Derek’s got his hands on Stiles’ hips and Stiles is pushing himself against Derek’s body harder. They kiss for what seems like an eternity before Stiles forces himself to pull away, with Derek almost trying to chase his lips.

Derek looks wrecked. His eyes are half-lidded, his mouth is open and he’s breathing just as heavily as Stiles. He keeps his hands on Stiles’ hips until Stiles pulls further away, then Derek frowns and looks at him as if trying to see him more clearly.

“Sorry,” Stiles says breathily. A beat. “I just really wanted to do that. Glad I got that off my chest.”

He turns away quickly, but he doesn’t miss Derek’s hands turning into fists and the blaze of red filling his eyes. When he has his breathing back under control, he turns back to see Derek leaning against a wall, eyes closed, head tipped up. It shows off the line of his throat excellently. Stiles gets hard even more, which he absolutely must not do because he’s currently babysitting.

Derek must hear his heartbeat jump, because Derek looks over at Stiles, smirking. Instead of it being lethal and scary, it twists something in Stiles’ gut.

“What?” Stiles asks, defensively. Derek’s smirk gets bigger. “So, you’re hot. You should know. You’ve looked in a mirror.”

“I didn’t realize threatening to slam you against things made you horny,” Derek counters, voice low and husky.

Stiles blushes. He’s sure his ears are turning red too. “Oh shut up!” Derek’s soft laughter follows him as he goes into the dining room to sit back down. When Derek follows and takes a seat across from him, he asks, “So, what did you need to talk about? And I hope it’s not about sexual identity crises, because I’ve had enough of that discussion for one day.”

Derek frowns, trying to parse that. “I want to ask, but I don’t,” he mutters. He’s smirking again. “I’m guessing that had something to do with the face-mauling I just got?”

“Shut up!” Stiles exclaims, a little too loudly. He makes a face when he realizes that either of the kids could have woken up from that. He points upstairs. “Is he—”

“No, no,” Derek says, smirk gone, considering the ceiling. “He’s sleeping.” He looks over at the bassinet in the living room. “She’s sleeping too.” A pause. “Now I’m gonna smell like babies ‘cause of you.”

Stiles smirks at him. “Well?”

Derek nods, back to business. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

Stiles sighs. “Great.”

Derek details how there’s a band of pixies entering the territory and he needs to borrow some equipment from Allison. And how he wants Stiles to ask for it so his name is not attached to it if anything should go wrong. Stiles has to roll his eyes because Derek seems to have no embarrassment in asking Stiles to ask Allison for equipment to help ward off, of all things, pixies.

“Alright,” Stiles mutters, when Derek finishes. “But only because you asked nicely.”

“So if I keep asking nicely, you’d always do things for me?” Derek asks, voice husky again, and there’s a challenge in his eyes that Stiles finds himself rising to… in more than one way.

“Maybe. You keep flirting with me and you’re gonna find your face getting mauled again.”

That pulls a laugh from Derek. A real laugh, that resonates through his stomach and chest and makes his eyes dance with laughter. Stiles chuckles too, because a) he might find himself following through on that threat pretty soon, and b) he likes being able to make Derek laugh like this.

“Thanks, Stiles,” Derek says when he’s controlled again. He checks the time on his phone. “I’ve gotta head out. Let you get back to babysitting.”

“Alright, you’re welcome,” Stiles says, following as Derek gets up and goes back to the front door.

Before Derek opens the door, he turns to look back at Stiles. “And sometime we’re gonna have a talk about that kiss.” He smiles slightly, then leaves Stiles to a frantically beating heart and some anxiety about their future meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos! I'm glad you guys are liking it so far!


	15. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek overhears the Sheriff and Stiles talking about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst. With a side of angst. I seem to really be into angst these past couple chapters.  
> Takes place the first night Derek is over at the Stilinskis for dinner.

Derek goes to the washroom and is just cleaning his hands when he hears the Sherriff speak in the kitchen. He automatically begins to tune him out as they converse. _Private human conversation is not meant for our ears_ , his mom used to say. She taught her kids to tune out conversations out of politeness and courtesy from an early age, and the habit has stuck.

But then Stiles says, “Derek’s hardly a stray, Dad.”

Derek can’t help but catch it. Stiles’ voice is soft but firm, as if he resolutely believes it. And he looks at himself in the mirror and realizes that he doesn’t necessarily believe it himself. He wasn’t meant to stay here. Beacon Hills was just a pit stop errand Laura was supposed to be running when she got herself killed. His home was New York, was always going to be New York. But he’s lingered here so long, that he doesn’t even think of New York as home. But neither is Beacon Hills.

That point gets hammered home when Stiles continues, “He’s got a life here—” and his father interrupts with, “No. He doesn’t.”

Stiles is struck quiet then, and so is Derek.

Laura died here in Beacon Hills, leaving him alone with a crazy uncle and two teenagers he didn’t want to babysit while one went through the change. Then he killed his uncle, became Alpha, and added four more new werewolves to his life, and things have spiralled from there.

He’s lived in his former burnt-out house instead of a motel. And when that place became unsafe (because of hunters), he chose a warehouse basement that had a random dilapidated train car. He had no job, no prospects, no real shelter. The remains of his degree was back in New York. He had no real ties to this town other than the small bunch of teenagers who depended on him for safety.

Is that all he is? Is becoming an alpha the only thing that defines him? What happened to the plans he had made during college of opening his own business? What happened to someday wanting to settle down and have a family?

He’d become so aimless since coming here. Too busy grieving over the loss of the last of his family and building a new pack to make himself feel better.

He’s making a decision when he realizes that the conversation hasn’t continued, and it’s oddly a loaded quiet that he can sense from the bathroom. He squashes his grief down, or at least tries to recover the semblance of normalcy he’d had while eating dinner, and went out to the kitchen. The two Stilinskis are starting to do the dishes, which may explain the silence, but when he comes in, he catches pity in both of their expressions, and that won’t do.

“Hey, sit down, relax,” Derek begins, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. “I can do the dishes.”

The Sheriff begins to protest, but Derek insists. The older man gives up his post at the sink and goes to the fridge. Stiles is watching Derek, his eyes wide. He wonders if Stiles is wondering if Derek heard the conversation. Maybe Stiles feels sorry for him. He pushes that thought out of his head, especially when the Sheriff comes back with a beer for him, which he accepts, and he easily ropes Stiles into being his helper.

He has to force himself to stay present for their conversation while washing dishes. Mostly chit-chat, nothing too big, but it makes him uncomfortable when they talk about the town and Derek has almost no idea what they’re referencing. It further hammers home that he has made no attempts to make this his town, hasn’t bothered to put down roots.

They sit in the living room for awhile, watching the last of the football game, when he wonders, why does he care about being part of this town? What does it matter if joins in to see town events or lacrosse games or if he gets a job and becomes another ordinary citizen? It’s not like the town has accepted him before.

Then Stiles steals huge sips from Derek’s beer bottle, giving him big challenging eyes, before handing the bottle back to Derek. This kid sought him out at his old childhood home, found Derek cutting, and dragged him over to his own house for dinner, never once berating Derek for his practices like many others already have.

And the Sheriff is sitting comfortably on the arm chair next to the sofa, beer bottle in hand, feet up on an ottoman, relaxed and content. Derek notices that the old man glances over whenever Stiles steals a sip from his beer. But even then, he still insists that Derek stay the night tonight, as if he already knows the reason Stiles had forced him to come to dinner.

And he thinks to himself, this is why.


End file.
